Backwoods
by Starry's Light
Summary: Frontier timeline. Millions of years later in a slow-changing sort of world, Torner (crudely named after a dead vivosaur of all things) finds himself forced to become a warden (via bribing the cheap captain) after his guardians decide he isn't passionate enough about... something, he doesn't know. Includes DUNA!, massive character development, and a constantly angry Stryker.
1. Lonely Brute

**Hi there! Welcome to... whatever this is, haha... ha...**

 **Backwoods and Frontier are synonyms by the way. This story's a pun. Just, just so y'all know.**

 **Also, I changed the three parks' names from "Asia", "America", and "Europe" to Regis, Ilum, and Midell because connecting fossil fighters back to real life is lame, and that's it hahaha.**

 **Last sidenote – this chapter is a sort of "special" preview/interlude thingy, so uh if you think it's hecking weird but still want to give this story a shot, the next chapter introduces our thirteen year old mess of a main character if you just wanna jump on right to him xD**

 **Thanks for reading!**

Backwoods

1: Lonely Brute

With the genius invention of Doctor Doug Diggins rolled up and kept snug in place by his folded arm, Rupert faces the horrors up ahead. He forces an expressionless silence, a desert of still, over himself, then gently elbows the boy next to him. "Now what?"

"Psssshhh," his spiky-gray-haired companion snorts hard. "I don't know! D' _you_ know? Because I sure as heck don't. Also, _what_ in the world are... whatever those are?" His—scaled—hand points wildly at the vehicles revving themselves up a storm of smoke in the vast metallic plain. It's the very same one the two boys crouch on the fringes of. What in the world have they fallen into this time around?

If not for some conveniently-left metalwork that appeared to be once a part of the ceiling, they would've been spotted, perhaps, had the two curious vehicles bothered to stop circling.

"I—Wh-Why would I?" Rupert sputters, nipping his tongue in the process. "Wh—... _Why_ are you asking me? You're the one who enforced Diggins with the task of building the time machine in the _first_ place!"

"Ha!" spiky-haired hoots, "to save youuuuur wife!"

Rupert flushes angrily. "She is not merely my wife, Dino! Or does your sister not matter all that much to you?"

Dino flushes back, hiding a smile behind a hand covered in reptilian scales. The dinaurian's tail twitches. "Y-Yeah, well. _Y'know._ " He doesn't elaborate, but then he coughs and adds, "I'm just tryna be funny, man..."

Rupert's golden eyes hood. "This isn't a laughing matter."

"I, I know that, I'm just being cheerful and..."

The dinaurian _decidedly_ does _not_ whimper, _not_ at all.

Within a hush, the two watch the monstrosity unfold. A pair of gargantuan vehicles, cars or something, but impossibly larger and sleeker, continue to hypnotically circle one another. They cruise in an enclosed dome of sorts. No door in sight. No, ah, normal, non-futuristic door, at least. Their heads poke out from around the mound of scrap metal, and they watch, mesmerized, terrified, as the metal beasts rev and circle and rev again.

There's the chunk of open ceiling, where all the metalwork had fallen from, but neither of the men quite amass the height to, ah, reach it...

"How f-far are we in the future again?" Rupert whispers, his already quiet voice a ghost of sound.

"Uhhh..." Dino snags the folded up cloth from under Rupert's arm. A little glass box on the edge, like a tag, reads off some funny bright numbers. "Hmm. How far ahead is this from where _we_ came from, though..."

His companion glances over and his face expression dissolves. "Wh-What? We must be further ahead than..." Counts silently. Pale fingers waver over the numbers. "Seven digits, that would be..."

"That would be what?"

Rupert has neglected to respond. "I-I don't want to think about it. If Diggins correctly inputted the calculations, we should be fine."

"Yeaaaaaah... That's real sketch, but—whatever, buddy."

They fall into a silence of their own, hovering, waiting, restlessly waiting. An acrid stench—unknown to the palates of the boys from the past—leaves an ugly taste in their mouths. Like burning, but... thicker. The cars endlessly circle as if caught in a time loop of their own until finally the dark sleek one breaks out of cue and bashes against the side of the other.

Neither can tell what any of it means. Then a sound, shrill at first, erupts from the successfully smashed vehicle—an electric purple that hurts to directly gaze upon. Some sort of electronically... transmitted voice crackles to life within the gaping mechanism: "When will you stop being such a goober, Mister Stryker? It's rather annoying to have the ceiling of my submarine decimated! Why don't you be a normal person and, I don't know... ring the doorbell. We actually are equipped with one, you see. It's, ah, at the top. A nice tidy little button. Burgundy. My favorite color."

Dino covers his chuckling mouth, but it's the only hint of mirth that escapes into the otherwise frigid atmosphere.

An icy twirl of tension strikes like hail upon the eavesdroppers. Rupert visibly shudders. Dino's eyes bounce off and settle over the commotion ahead, his brow neatly furrowed into a crisp crease. Then a similarly electronic reply spits out of the black monster-car: "You are the villain here! _Hand_ over the uncharted documents, Blacknycto! I am saving mankind from _you_ " _—_ as if to puncture his statement, the stupid black monster-car revs some more, causing the boys to cough—"and your _intolerant_ _horribleness_!" He breaks out of line, wheels churning, and swerves at the electric purple beast—but Mister Stryker's prey has prepared this time and makes a quick vroom on out of there.

Dino watches with his mouth gaping, then mutters, "Do you think the drivey things are talking, or are there people actually inside? Or are the people on other sides of the planet and they're _transmitting_ themselves into here?"

"I don't know..." Rupert releases a slow avalanche of breath. "I just want to find Dina. The—You said Diggins configured some way for the time portal to... what, follow wherever the silly fiend who kidnapped Dina had gone afterward, through some sort of energy transmission far over our heads? S-So presumably, she was here, at some point. The only... question is where she may be now."

Reluctant golden eyes arched toward the ceiling's hole.

His spiky-haired companion swallows. His dark gaze shivers. "Yeah. Darn it, stupid annoying weirdos who _blast_ into the _past_ and just, gotta steal cute orangey-haired dinaurian... sisters or whatever..." He ends in a pout, almost childish, but he can't bring himself to look away from the cars up ahead, peering through the windows.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE!" the shiny black one suddenly screams.

"Oh hey," Dino tries, "maybe he has Din—"

"RELEASE THE GIRL AT ONCE! I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU WARPED HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS IN THE PAST AND—AND MANAGED TO CATCH A GLIMMER OF THE BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS VISAGES OF THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO CREATED OUR SOCIETY FROM THREE OR FOUR ISLANDS AND SOME REPTILIAN ALIENS, BUT SHE DOES NOT BELONG WITH YOU!"

Oh.

"That worked very well," he remarks and Rupert's face lights up like the moon above a snowlit sky, somewhere cold and unbearable and lifeless. He can feel his heart again, beating beneath numb layers of ice. "Now what, bub? Break in and scream at them until things go our way?"

They speak in hushed tones beneath the one man's rambling screams. Mister Stryker, was it? What a funky name.

"I-I doubt breaking in and screaming would be of much use."

"Ooh! I know. Let's sic Droplet on them." From his hand, a gleaming medal shuffles as if to peek through the boy's scaly fingers and catch a glimpse of the fantastical battle. A krona, a finned monster from the seas with a blue stripe down its sleek, white back, shimmers upon the front of it. "Droplet would know what to do."

Rupert pinches the bridge of his nose, slowly, his golden gaze elsewhere. "What, and Torn as well? The little... nuisance would perhaps frighten these strange people who lack themselves vivosaurs. Their... mechanical traps yet miss much of what our... friends could offer."

A corresponding dimetro—a vivosaur with a red sail along his spine—growls in Rupert's coat pocket.

"Well, what else can we do? What if we had them break open the windows and one of them found Dina, like, casually chilling on the ground? Then we could just open up the time portal and get the hecking _heck_ outta here."

" _Yes_ , but—

Dino raises his arm and Rupert, sensing it, promptly grabs him by the elbow and pulls him back. "Not yet! W-Wait, at least. That loud Stryker man has been ranting for some time now, but I hear him falling back. Wait and see what they say next."

With a reluctant ease to his hand, Dino drops it. His fingers clench tightly around the medal, waiting, watching his friend for some sort of mysterious, ulterior cue.

In the reverberating din of a sudden silence, the older man's gravelly tone returns, washing away the pain of Stryker's raw impassioned screaming. "Can—Do you have no off button? Chill out, for once. Goodness _grac_ ious. The young lady is of no harm, you know. I was just testing things is all. And now that I have her, I'll return her at some point, but not until I see my uses met with he—"

Rupert intakes a sharp breath that stabs him internally, a phantom wound in his throat. "H-He could mean _so many horrible things_ by that—"

"Then let's attack _now—_ "

"D-Dino! Not yet! W-Wait, what if we hurt her _more_ by showing _now_?"

For once, the spiky-haired dinaurian halts himself. "Oh. Shoot. Didn't think of that... d- _dang_ it." He folds his arms around his chest and stares through layers of gray. "I hate this."

"Just a little longer.

Rupert's hand, after a hesitant nudge, brushes against his friend's. "Just a little longer and w-we won't come back to this mess ever again. We've... fought ancient beings of total destruction, ah, old vivosaurs who amassed obscene levels of strength, the one that became a zombie, the one that possessed Dina—We... we can do this."

That loud younger fellow in the black car breaks in as if on cue: "RELEASE THE GIRL!"

"You literally are going to stare at her like she's your cute little specimen. And you'll never let her go home, and—no. I'm actually just enacting myself a little social experiment here, Stryker, I-I'll have you _know—_ "

"YOU MONSTER!"

Rupert lets out a breath. "This is steadily pacing in the direction of nowhere." Closes his eyes. "Get the bloody krona out."

With great gusto, his friend complies, flinging his aquamarine medal over the junk heap.

Immediately the small disc morphs, with a burst of light, into the finned creature depicted upon the cold surface. She shakes herself, and little water speckles pool below her floating finned body, as if she's treading air. And maybe she is. Dino never figured out how that works, but it does, so it does.

Droplet _swooshes_ through thin air and—remembering her manners—taps at the glass of the glossy black car. She speaks telepathically, as vivosaurs do, to the guy within, proving that they _are_ hidden somewhere inside their strange mechanisms: _So uh, can we have her back now? She's kind of a human being, and all, and also I'll just, um, rip your fancy metal thingies apart if you don't, so like..._

In Rupert's pocket, the red dimetro grovels about and curses frequently, but he waits, and he waits rather patiently for the whole shebang to blow over with.

"Wh-What sort of vivosaur _are_ you?" the overly emotional Stryker cries.

 _Uh, a krona? I, uh, come from underwater? And like, I'm the best, obviously. So that's kind of a giant punch to my pride right there..._

"Huh. Never seen one of those before."

"IT MUST BE DINA'S!"

Dino lowers his head. "But... she's not Dina's, though... that's not cool... They apparently know all the fun things about my sister, and not me..."

"Th-That's strange, though," Rupert mutters. "Why would they know so much about her? Enough to configure a time machine and approach an exact interval where she is still alive, however many years in the past! Wh-What are we, some... celebrity-status people? In this world, we haven't existed in hundreds of... th-thousands of years..."

Dino flips his hair. "We're just cool like that."

"Well, maybe you are—"

"Awww, Rupy, that is no way to treat yourself! C'mon, settle _down_ and stuff, you."

Then Droplet, the loyal companion she is, adds, _Yeah, no, I'm Dino's, you idiots. I mean I don't know how you'd know that, actually, but..._ She stumbles. _Wait, frick, I totally just revealed that we've been hiding over there in that junk pile for the past, what, five zillion years._

One of the giant cars _zooms_ toward the junk pile and Rupert and Dino stumble backwards. "Droplet!" the latter shouts, "you literally just ruined everything, but it's _fine_!"

That loud screamy Stryker voice goes flying out of his vehicle at top speeds. "YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONES OF THE OLDEN AGE, THE FIRST ORDER! I CANNOT BELIEVE I'VE BEEN HONORED ENOUGH TO BE GIFTED AN OFFHAND GLIMPSE OF YOU IN THIS WAY! THE PRODIGY, RUPERT, AND THE...

Dino's self esteem kick-drops itself off the cliff in his gut. "DINO! YOU! YES, YOU! OH, AND YOU'RE BOTH SO YOUNG! NEITHER OF YOU HAVE EVEN SIRED CHILDREN YET! WHAT A TIME IT IS TO BE ALIVE!"

"G-Goodness, I think it's about time to leave," Rupert mutters, ducking under a bit of metalwork hopefully tiny enough the car can't get in. He shoots for Dino's arm but misjudges and snags his tail, but it works alright and the two huddle beneath the metal awning.

"Now what?" Dino mouths, but of course neither of them know anything about anything that they are doing, so they just stare at each other in a moment of abject terror as they hear the trundle of the other car coming up and by.

Loud, like mountains—if mountains had feet—are moving, too quickly for their own good. Rupert could feel in his throat the drop of cold terror as they shuffle, his heart thundering, cursing the silly krona who got them into this mess until he remembers that it possibly would've ended this way no matter how it all started—

What had that Stryker man said about siring children?

…

An unbelievably uncomfortable sensation erupts all over Rupert's body. It's like this _stranger_ had planted him on a table and opened him up from the inside, and now all of the vital things that make him Rupert are busy being shown off to the rest of the world.

But then a tiny ladder pops out of the car parked in front of them—the purple striped one, the non black one, the _not Stryker one._

Sharing a singular look, the two wordlessly climb up and enter.

Rupert finds himself clutched within someone else's arms. When he dares look upon them, his breath shudders in his throat: there his orangey-haired wife stands in front of him.

He checks her over—no bruises, no... no horrible _fear_ in her eyes, no, nothing.

Somewhere behind lies a man, a man cast in the shadow of his own image, the heart of his mechanical monster. "You... I didn't expect any of you to discover the power of time travel within the week." Then a pause. "Sorry to scare you. I just wanted to prove a point."

Dino, leaning against the sleek wall, props his arm out a window and catches his krona's medal. "Prove what point?" While he asks it, he leans too far and just about falls out the window, until his arm lashes out and he jumps back, snaps the window shut, face red.

"Oh, nothing. It's a dumb game I play with good old Mister Stryker."

Rupert and Dino share a glance. "Oh...

The dinaurian coughs into a scaled fist. "But Dina's unharmed, so..."

And decidedly they leave it off at that.

Instead of asking any further questions, Dino pulls the magical white cloth out from under his arm and lays it out like a picnic blanket on the ground. The three pile in and they press a little switch in the side, and with a bright light it's all over, mercilessly over. The afterburn stains Blacknycto's dark, putrid eyes.

He turns ahead again, and his face casts within the void of darkness. "Just a silly old game we play... a game where he tries to make me play by his rules, and I almost do, but never quite, never quite what the silly man wants. I work with the wardens, he says no. I go off to do my own work, he says no. I try to rip him out of my hair... he says no.

"But can he say no to this?

Dangerously quiet eyes follow the way around the bone buggy until hitting the blueprints mocking up some sort of time portal. "She was a nice girl. I sure wish more people were nice like that in this day and age.

"Oh how the labors of this world have made me so very... very tired."

And in the midst of his pondering, Stryker's massive black buggy rams into the front of his vehicle, jostling and jostling until the shadows overwhelm.

 **Psshhh this is pretty intense**

 **Torner's next though, and he's a real treat**

 **ahaha, thanks for reading!**


	2. Things You Don't Wanna Do

Backwoods

2: Things You Don't Wanna Do

Torner mostly just tries to stay in the corner of the couch. He slouches heavily, and it makes him feel like nobody can see him; what he doesn't realize is his melodramatic pose enacts the exact opposite response from the other passerby in the room. They keep suspiciously glancing in his direction like there's something wrong with him, but he doesn't notice, what with his wide, green eyes heavy on the floor.

Someone put a little too much time in the mosaics. It's kind of ugly. Maybe if he tells that to Mr. Stryker, then his stupid aunt and uncle won't make him be a warden. Wardens are all _old_ and _fat_ stupid heads with no hairlines cuz they get all stressed out.

Plus Mr. Stryker yells at them all the time.

Also his parents are stupid for thinking they can pay their way into this.

"I'm telling you," mutters the very anxious Mr. Stryker from his desk, "as reputable as I find the _both_ of you—very wonderful people— _especially_ in the symbolic, referential naming of your children—one cannot simply have a thirteen-year-old warden! The program is for _adults_! It's a job! A _serious_ one! With consequences!"

He's cut off by the _clink_ of more money casually thrown down in front of his face.

Torner shrinks a little more into the cushion.

His younger cousin, Trixia, scoots up toward him. She's been about as awkward as him, only nowhere near as quiet. "Mommmmmmmmmmmm! Daaaaaaaddddd! Torner doesn't wanna be a waaardeeennnnnnnnnn!"

She's been yelling this periodically. Unfortunately, his aunt and uncle are stupid heads. Maybe _they_ should be wardens.

Well... _yeah_ , then no one would be running their crazy expensive clothing company... but whatever. He'll just take it over. Clothing is great. Clothing is one hundred percent not terrifying and zero percent likely to eat you. How hard can it be?

When the cash evidently does little to impress Mr. Stryker, Torner's aunt raises her voice. "Yes, _yes_ , and _I'm_ telling _you_ that our boy has nothing to do with himself. He's got a loony older brother and cousin, into ninjas of all things, like the Ninja Turtle phase, but they never got out of it. _And_ for all we know, he'll end up like _them_ if he has nothing to do with himself. Besides, didn't you have that... _junior_ warden system going on?" All with an affable flick of a hand and the slide of crisp bills onto the desk.

Wow, there are a lot of papers on Mr. Stryker's desk. Being a warden sounds about as awesome as being killed by vivosaurs; what a _great_ thing that the second can be caused by the first.

At the sound of their guardians once again bashing their siblings, Trixia cries, "Heeeeyyy! Hanzo and Sasuke are coooool!" her cheeks inflamed hot-air balloons. "Sasuke makes waaayy more money than you!"

Her father marches off from the bribing of Mr. Stryker to situate himself in front of his spoiled daughter. She kicks at the frivolous hem of her huge, lacy dress. "Trixia, your brother makes that money off of _bad_ people. We _told_ you, he gets _con-artists_ to pay him well, and con-artists are _bad_ people."

Trixia sticks out her tongue. "Sasuke's not bad though!"

"Well... that depends on how you look at it, dear." Her father releases a tired sigh, the kind that only a man who realizes a little too late that he gave a little too many expensive gifts to his daughter can muster. "Some people think he's pretty bad."

"I don't! And I'm _always_ right! I know the _best_ of my big brother!"

One eventually learns when argument is futile. "Perhaps you will join your cousin Torner in this whole _warden_ business once you've been settled in," mutters his uncle through the distasteful mustache.

No one has much of anything—good or bad—to say of Hanzo, Torner's brother. They haven't seen much of him since his disappearance. Everyone just sort of assumed he went off and led a nice, happy, _quiet_ life somewhere. Bit of an oddball, he.

Meanwhile at Mr. Stryker's very official looking front desk, Torner's aunt continues to persuade him into buying the little rascal in. "You do understand, don't you? I'm sure you wouldn't want our nephew going down the wrong path in life."

"You speak as if my _entire_ organization is but a ch _ILD'S—_

Mr. Stryker has to take a moment to hold off from screaming. He's got issues. Torner tries not to laugh, but his fear is so stuck up his throat that he can't either way. "Excuse me. You do recognize what you connote the Wardens' Administration to, yes? This is not a mere _day_ care for prissy babies to fuss about in. We save _lives_. We stop _crime_. We're the ones who stepped in on the rogue vivosaur situation and we're the ones currently striving to handle it. We're the ones who—"

"You're _also_ the one who ruined the Wardens' Administration to near-bankruptcy chasing any and all rumors of where Sylvester Blacknycto disappeared off to with his so-called 'time traveling' capabilities." Torner's aunt smiles demurely; her head cocks and she asks with deadly eyes, _Next move?_

It isn't exactly a secret that Mr. Stryker believed he'd met a few key members from the way gone past a few years ago. Apparently, one couldn't spark a conversation without him bringing it up anymore. Torner smirks and kicks the marbled floor—what a _loon_.

At least that's what Torner hears. And he only listens less than a quarter of the time, so his word isn't even trustworthy. Hey, it's not _his_ fault... he just... he just got a really cool new video game, and it's hard to put down... and before that one, there was another... and another... and then that new gaming console...

Mr. Stryker has a very lame look on his face. He's kind of speechless. He's kind of been speechless for awhile now. Torner giggles weakly, picking at one of the sleeves on his lavish coat. The coattails sit crumpled beneath him. "I—I..." Finally, the tall brunette sputters and starts to come back to life. "H-How dare you. What money I wisely allotted to this predicament serves a _cause_! Blacknycto's an insane old man who spouts nonsense half the time, and if _that's_ the source of some _crea_ ture able to build a time traveling machine, then he _must_ be stopped before something atrocious occurs!"

"I like how you say that after failing to defeat the man deemed as a 'madman', a 'once-genius', a 'fallen star from the graces of pleasant company'," preens his sole listener, hand over her smiling mouth. "For all we know, you've made up this entire _imaginative_ tale to digress from the fact that you lost. Horribly. No one has even _seen_ usage of this so-called 'time machine' in action, if I may remind you, Stryker?" And there she pauses to release a soft, fluttering laugh.

"FINE THEN."

 _BURGHH_.

His fist on the desk. "FINE, DON'T BELIEVE ME, BUT THAT GIVES YOU ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT TO DEBUNK MY WARDENS' ADMINISTRATION!"

Torner's uncle pauses from the teasing of his daughter. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I will have to deal with this offending child. Ahhh," he titters and goes off to try and calm Stryker before said offending child snaps his desk in two or maybe passes out trying.

There's a really awkward bout of screaming as the leader of the wardens utterly disregards his cool and goes off at Torner's aunt for being Torner's aunt and all. Torner spends the duration of it staring glumly at his shining boot buckles, regretting the fact that his guardians didn't let him bring his NS to the dumb application process. He doesn't even have anything to _do_...

Trixia scoots back toward her cousin and smiles cheekily. "I bet Momma and Daddy's gonna get you to be a warden, Torner!"

"I'd rather be a... a... a Team Skull grunt!" he cries into the deafening cacophony that is captain Stryker.

"Wha'sa Team Skull grunt?" The girl gasps. "A bully?"

Torner pouts, puffing out his chest. "No! Trixia, I _told_ you, they're a gang of bad guys that're super cool. They, like, hang out in the streets of a permanently-raining town, and... and they don't even have to do chores or anything." That's a perfectly adequate description.

"Sounds like Mr. Stryker if you ask me," she mumbles, picking at one of her green eyes. A strand of white hair flicks over her gaze, the same color as her older brother's. Same face, too, almost: long, sharp features, the funny bend in the nose. The same spark of mischief, like any second now, Trixia might pull off her mask and reveal to be the lost ninja in disguise all along.

"Noooo. Mr. Stryker's not that cool..." Torner sighs. "Not like you'd understand..." He's an entire _two_ years older than her. She knows practically _nothing_.

Finally, the debate begins to peter out. Stryker, a very busy man, wipes a sheen of sweat from his forehead as his dark hair flops over his face. "Alright, _fine_. I'll take the money and your nephew." Torner notes the grunt of urgency in his tone—ulh. " _Do_ know this is _not_ a daycare, and it's not _my_ fault if he goes crying to you about how hard it is, being a warden. And a _junior_ warden at that!" Then gruffly the man seems to mutter, "And all potential medical expenses will be covered for, so long as the Wardens' Administration is still funded by the populace in due time."

And that is about as much of a sorry goodbye as Torner gets from his past life. His guardians more or less assure him—but do they _mean_ it?—that they'll send a parcel of some of his things over—as in his new console—and Trixia's determined to visit. Which won't be fun, since she's a stupid eleven year old, but whatever. She better not touch his games. She's gonna totally touch his games. _Ugh_.

Mr. Stryker sets off at a brisk pace out of his chamber. With a finger directed in the vague direction of Torner, the boy takes the hint and nervously trots after him. He has to half-run since Stryker's all tall and oblivious and stuff. And then he trips. Twice. Skins his knee kinda bad the first time.

Without really turning to look his way, Stryker starts speaking in a monotone murmur. "Your room will be upstairs, same section as the rest of the junior wardens." Poor Stryker. He must get bribed like this a lot of the time. Like a _lot_ of the time, judging by that sullen look of dejected hatred on his face. Like a recurring nightmare. "They're not bad people. They'll teach you how to do everything." Oh, uh. Okay then.

Torner's kind of quiet as they step out into a public elevator, one not hooked up to Stryker's pad. The tall brunette taps the **3** and the doors _ksshhh_ shut.

Quiet.

"Hanzo's a _good_ guy, you know. M-Mister Stryker." He mumbles it, pouting, at the carpet. "He's not like Sasuke." _Yeah_ , his older brother's cool.

An odd lilt touches Stryker's tone. "Please. Stryker alone will do just fine." Release. "And I know. I do." Small smile. "He isn't. He's a little odd, but he does a lot more of getting your older cousin out of trouble than your older cousin does getting into it." _Yeah_ he does. "He's a very powerful young man." _Yeah_ he is. "Works with us wardens sometimes." _Yeah_ he—

Torner's face puckers. "Oh. Um. Di-Didn't know that." _Hah_. His mental image of his older brother dulls slightly. "Yeah, uh, Hanzo's _super_ strong." Because that's all he has to say on the matter. Also, it's kind of weird meeting someone else who actually knows who Hanzo is.

"Well, it's more than just strength." A warmth lets in on Stryker's gaze. Almost... fondness. "Hanzo's capable. A diligent, innovative young man. Silent, yes, and terribly inconvenient, but I can respect that in a man such as he."

They pause as the elevator _ding_ s and the third floor hall spills out in front of them.

"I don't _wan_ na be strong," mutters Torner.

And thus the moment is lost.

Instead of arguing with the young boy, Stryker decides to ignore him. His lips curl back into a sharp neutral line. "Two other junior wardens make residence here in Regis, alongside two... fully-fledged wardens"—he says with a drag of reluctance—"and the warden head of Regis lives on the floor below my own.

"Good day, junior warden. I'll have the frequency levels of your tracker updated so you catch any warden news, and your JW jacket will come in tomorrow morning alongside your first mission."

And just like that, Stryker strides back into the elevator. A beep and he's gone.

Torner's mouth gapes wide open. " _Buh—_ " he sputters.

Then he kind of shuts down in the middle of the hallway and stays there for a good few minutes.

…

At the crest of a particularly large hill—not quite steep or tall or menacing enough to be a mountain—lies a snug stone temple. It's been around for so long that nobody even remembers how long it's been. Before _them_. An ancient stone arch grossly entangled by moss reads in strict characters: _For my beloved sister_.

Betwixt mildew and wet spots and dark, cold rock, a strikingly realistic statue stands. One that suggests, perhaps, it could get up and walk away whenever it feels like it. By now ugly streaks of lichen and even a few brave mushrooms have festooned to the sculpture.

And then with a _cccRACK_ it all peels away, falling backwards and crumpling to reveal a single scaled specimen; she falls, squeaking, to the wet stone floor.

It's cold. She trembles. Her pained magenta gaze flashes as she struggles on long-since-unused legs. A tail, blue and striped with magenta, strikes out into the rocky efface. Her lowered head falls, bangs hiding her face; a whimper trembles out through her lips.

"Di...Dino..?" Wild eyes thrash. "Di—Diiino... D-Did we not defeat Guhnash? U-Um, Dino... what is this cave? Wh-Why am I... in a cave?"

It quickly becomes evident that she's the only one. The dinaurian tests her strength and works wobbly strides up through the temple, noting, as she turns to get a good look at it, the text at the top.

A hand runs out and thumbs over the stone, diving past the moss and the rock and the empty cold feeling of it.

She wheezes. Her other hand wipes over her cheeks. "Ra-Raptin... Raptin, h-how long has it been? How... long has it b—"

"Well you're a sight... Dinaurian? I... admit, I thought I was the only one."

A flinch sneaks over the girl. She turns rapidly and confronts the stranger. Red, spiny hair covers his head, and fabrics of all kinds layer over the vast majority of his body. With one gloved hand, the boy carefully pulls down the scarf over his mouth, and she gasps.

Scales. Soft, pristine, pink scales. Like _hers_ but... but lighter. A lot lighter. Practically skin-colored.

"Y-You sound very much like s-someone I know!" she shrieks. It's the first thing that comes to mind.

Her stranger pauses. "And who is that?"

"A-A boy, like you. His name is... was..." She stumbles. "D-Dino."

The ninja lets out a short breath. "Are you... You're _not_..." He sprints off into the temple and then darts back out not seconds after. "You are! Du...na? Was it? Duna! You're the dinaurian that was in stone sleep for so long! You got... stuck, apparently. At least that's what the legends all said." His nimble, quick feet reflect in his tone. Sharp green eyes examine Duna's scaled face.

"Yes, I... I am Duna. Have I been trapped for... for..." While her body hides her tremors, her gaze does not. "H-How long was I in... stone sleep?"

"They say millions of years."

She lets out a soft, wet gasp. "N-No... Then that means Dino and king Dynal and... and _Rap_ tin are all..." long gone. "O-Oh no... Raptin was never very good a-at making friends... W-Was he sad?" She leaps toward the stranger. "Do you know if Raptin led a sad life after I... after..." She can't bring herself to say it.

"Pfff..." The redhead's gaze sidles off. "Legends say he got married. I think I'm a descendent of his."

Duna gasps. "Wh-What?! You are related to me?"

He pauses. "Well... if at _all_ , then it's very distant at this point. But... funny to think about, huh."

"Why is..." Duna winces. "Why is your dialect so... different from mine?" Her stiff, dinaurian tongue—like Raptin, like Dina—not like Dino, he grew up and spoke like a human—but like so many others... "It must have blended away in time. Heh...

She's suddenly shy. It's a wonder what's going on in her head at this point. "What is... your name?"

"Hanzo. And you're Duna, yes?" A funny tug of interest pulls his head toward hers.

"Yes. I am Duna. From... legend." She giggles weakly, shading her face with one of her hands. "I-I am sorry... this is all very new and very strange for me..." A sigh. "I am so... confused. I-I feel many... confl _i_ cti—"

Her voice holds out no more. She loses to her feelings, tears streaming, fingers shaking.

Hanzo sputters, "Ahh—hey... hey, um... Let me help you. I can—I can try and offer a place for you to stay. While you're confused."

Well... technically. Stryker's gonna _lose_ it when he finds out about this.

So much for a peaceful day of prayer and meditation, huh.

With a shudder filling up her figure, Duna manages a nod. "Tha- _Tha_ nk you..."

A small smile. He covers it with one of his own hands. "For sure."

 **So we meet Torner. And his family xD (his aunt and uncle aren't named because I didn't think them particularly important, so there's two less characters you have to remember hahaha)**

 **Trixia's basically the female MC except her hair is white, like Sasuke's, haha siblings**

 **And yess! I just! Hanzo and the male MC already look so similar and I just... made the connection? so Torner is Hanzo's lil bro and Sasuke and Hanzo are cousins, sort of(?) friends like Torner and Trixia.**

 **Why is Hanzo dinaurian if no one else in his family is? this is all fantasy so I technically can come up with what I want at times hahaha but I decided that even though after all these years the dinaurians certainly have begun, uh, interbreeding(?) with humans, because of a few complicated reasons surrounding the two species that was in the story earlier (dinaurians are basically more ancient forms of vivosaurs and humans) I decided that you need _all_ the genes(?), like the trait in both parents, to get dinaurian children and even then it's sort of rare**

 **like if only one side of the parents is dinaurian it won't work**

 **Hanzo is one of few xD he gets pretty excited when he meets Duna, haha  
So even though Torner's parents evidently had all the necessary pieces to make one dinaurian it didn't all work out the second time  
Uh, GENETICS  
I bet anyone who likes science hates me right now pffbfbb**


	3. Betrothed Buddies

Backwoods

3: Betrothed Buddies

Nate is considered the least competent of the wardens, and that says something, considering the competition.

At the young, strapping age of seventeen, one would assume he hovers above most of the junior wardens, at the very least—certainly in age—but in reality Stryker may have denoted the pink-haired boy as a Lost Cause and moved him up anyways, just to get it over with.

He exits the elevator, his shoes scuffing the carpet, as he doesn't even bother to lift them the meager amount it would require not to. He pauses, for no discernible reason, and fiddles with the goggles tied about his neck. The image of a person glints off of the edge of the glass, and a crude, awkward grin sketches over Nate's face. He doesn't step anywhere closer to the kid—a redhead. Small redhead. Probably a new recruit.

It just sort of makes him suffer about of _extreme nerves_.

Lucky for Nate, a blonde girl in a short, flouncy dress swings by to save him from the moment. His attention wavers toward her.

"Naaate! You're back already? Aww, I wanted to wait for you and—and meet you by the front! Heheh... not that this change of plans makes me sad." Her pale skin flushes easily; her voice carries the bulk of a northern accent that, without her cheerful demeanor, would play her off as haughty.

He turns, his green eyes shining. "Hey, Penny!" She bumps against him in an embrace. Her head just about grazes his shoulder. She's three years below him, but by the way she carries herself, she casts a mature spell over herself. It might appear Nate would find this offensive. He hardly notices. "Yeaaah, Liu Ren decided things'd be better off if he finished dealing with the rogue vivosaur on his lonesome. That just means I get more time with you, sooo who cares." His laugh is warm, exuberant, like his sunshiny demeanor.

"Oh no..." Her cheeks puff into a pout, distorting her voice into a warble. "Another failure..? I'm sowwyyyy..."

Nate grins again. "Naaah, naah," he waves it off, "it's all good, babe. No worries."

Even as a junior warden, Penny stands the much more diligent of the two, which is funny in a way since she wouldn't even be a warden at all was it not for Nate.

"Stryker... Is Stryker mad?" Penny's sky blue eyes cloud of worry.

But Nate waves this off as well. "I don't think so. He's sort of done with me at this point."

"Nnnh! Naaate, you have to take your responsibilities more seriously or Stryker will yell at you again... Y-You __know__ you're not as bad as you pretend!" Her head starts bobbling with her words. "Really! If you just put more effort into being a warden and—and taking practice seriously, I-I'm sure you could even best Mei—"

"Whoaaa now." The pinkette gently shakes his head, taking Penny's small hands in his larger freckled ones. "That ain't gonna happen." There's his grin. "It's nice to know you think so highly of me though. Heheheh..." His ears go a little red.

They've known each other since forever. At this point, red ears are a given that won't dissipate no matter the circumstance.

Penny finally glances away from Nate for the full split second it takes to notice the guy sort of crumpled over the carpet near them. "Oh! Na-Nate! Wh-Who's that!" She edges near it, he lip bravely pressed out, one sandaled toe nudging the kid's shoulder.

"I-I dunno," he mumbles, exasperated already. "Don't know if I wanna find out."

"Well I do! I-I think we _ _should__ find out, Nate! Maybe he's a new junior warden!"

This line of thought pleases Nate much less than it does Penny. "C'monnnnn, babe... You don't have to make friends with everyone..."

"No..." She snaps to attention. Her two tails of hair shake with her head, the scarlet bows tied at the top quivering. "Nate, it's important to befriend others. As wardens, it's our responsibility to get to know the people we serve so that we can _better_ serve them!"

"Ehhh..." Nate sort of yawns. He's a little squeamish. His hands go into his khaki pockets.

Penny pouts again, her cheeks pinking with the quirk of her brow. "This is important, Naaaate..." He continues staring off into the distance. She finally gives in. "Nnngh, fine... be that way, you stubborn, adorable... Ahh, but I'm checking up on him now!"

Nate sputters into the abyss of obsolescence he falls into every single time this woman disagrees with him. "Ahh, fine! Okay! I'll help you!"

Besides, her thoughts are usually a lot better than his thoughts. So it works out.

The two crouch in front of the weird redhead and try to coax him out of his nodo-like shell. They don't get much of a response for some time. Eventually Penny gets a little impatient and pulls the boy up to his height and shakes him. A little bit, nothing harmful, Penny can't muster anything much more than a gentle nudge. At this point Nate takes him away from the blonde and tries to straighten the poor kid out. He's shorter than both of them—practically at Penny's chin. And his clothes are annoyingly well-made. This bothersome notion fills Nate's throat at the sight of this cheeky boy in his expensive... playwear.

And then the kid stirs. "H-Heeeey..! Who're you two!"

What was that, three voice cracks? How old is he, eleven?

Nate considers making the kid, say, introduce _himself_ first, but Penny is not about that kind of life. "Hello! It's very nice to meet you! I presume you're one of the new... ummm, junior wardens?" She smiles kindly, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She's too good for this earth. "I'm Penny, and this is my betrothed, Nate!" One of her small hands points him out; his ears burn with the red of a flash fire.

Calling it "betrothed" _always_ gets his ears red. It's just one of those things that, despite its permanent existence, despite the fact that it's been years, _here_ it is again.

"Buhhh?" sputters the boy. "Yeaaah, I'm a... I'm a junior war—Heey..." His mind starts kicking in. "Heeey, you're way too young to be betrothed... that's like for big grown ups and stuff... And wardens are all big grown ups with no hairlines, and... and... you're not!" Incredulously, he touches his own head. "You have hair!"

Penny cringes. But it's a cute cringe, since she's Penny. "Um, is there an age limit? On any of those things?" Her voice mellows. "I... believe not." Back to her smile. She pointedly doesn't address the hairline thing. "I've been betrothed to Nate since we were children, actually. Heh, it's... a little complicated, but I've known him for my entire life and I know that... well..."

Not a lot gets her to stumble and blush like that, but it's always super precious when she does.

The kid puffs his cheeks next. "Well? Then you better have a reason!" His eyes glint as if they're saying, _o_ _ _r else you're a scrub.__ _What a, what a painful insult to be dealt. Geez._

Nate slowly exhales. He's one of _those_ kids. "Yeah, sure." One of those silly kids who probably plays Fortnite and screams for a solid thirty seconds every single time someone kills him. "So my mom was a really... let's say striking therapist. So she's always been a little intimidating, but if you can get over that, she's... really good. I think at least. The people who went through with her all seem to be living their best lives. But, well, doesn't look it until you go through with it. And my dad's the coolest janitor of all time, so that's out of the question. She's a janitor with him when she's out of patients, haaaaa, fun fact, they are the most happiest janitors that will ever—um—" he catches Penny's weak gaze and moves on. "Anyways my mom met Penny's mom at a really rough patch in life and helped Penny's mom out.

Nate sort of pauses here. "And Penny's family have a _lot_ more money than my family. Putting that out there now. N-Not that that's a very difficult achievement to get, when you're, uh, comparing my family to..." He breaks into his own sentence to mutter, "But _she_ has self-flushing toilets, and a cool butler named Manfred..."

Their kid breaks in on top of him. "That doesn't make any sense, you stupid heads! What does money have to do with anyyything?"

Penny's cringe returns. She takes over, glancing and smiling weakly at her betrothed. "Well... When my mom realized she was pregnant, Nate was already around, and our parents decided that they wanted us to, um... be together. So we... grew up like that. Our families have... done a lot for each other I gu—"

"What, was your mom like infertile or something for a super long time?" Alright. _This kid needs to chill. Now he's like that Minecraft kid who took all your stuff, so then you take all_ _ _his__ _stuff and he actually goes haywire like a monkey let loose into a banana store._

"I-I don't really know..." Penny laughs weakly, her hand cupping her cheek. "I never asked. I... respected her privacy." _Unlike_ _ _some__ _one they just met_. "I just know she was in a lot of pain, and now she's a lot better."

She and Nate share a private little smile. Sensing her discomfort, he swoops in again. "Aaaanywayssss, what's your name, kid?"

"I'm not a kid!" he cries. Of course. As they all say. "I'm a whole __thirteen__ years old! I'm a _t_ _ _een__ ager!" Oh goodness, don't hurt yourself, kid. " _ _Tor__ ner the __teen__ ager!" There he goes, sticking his little chin up like he's so proud of it.

"Heh. You sound like a really prideful power ranger..." Nate giggles quietly at the ceiling.

And that's all he can think to say... so then there's this silence. Penny's off somewhere else, her brow furrowed into the unending question of whether or not speaking to this kid was a mistake. Nate's gaze hasn't left the ceiling.

Torner cuts back in. "My parents are mailing my NS so... so you should play with me when it gets here." The way Torner sees it, the more people he can invite over to his room, the more people he can show off and _beat_ at Mario Kart. It's, uh, more fun than... playing against computer players... since his aunt and uncle never let him play online...

"Oh my gosh! You have an NS?" The pinkette's voice raises. "Maaaan! I want an NS! Pennnnyyyy, if my mom wanted to get me an NS for my birthday, would your pare—"

She drops her gaze, giggling. "You know how my parents feel about video games..."

"Wow!" Torner shrieks. "Your parents sound _terrible_!"

Penny's face goes red. "N-No, they're not! They"—her eyes are sharp—"They let me run away when Nate passed the Warden Exam and—and even paid for my entrance when I couldn't pass it myself!" Then she sort of slaps a hand over her startled expression.

"Pffff! Oh, Penny!" Nate shakes his head, smiling gently. "Babe, heey, it's okaaaay..." But he can't quite get his mind off of the NS. His head tilts back toward the newbie. "You... You serious, man? Your NS is... a thing? That you have? And it's gonna be here soon?"

He makes his way toward his betrothed as Torner pipes up, grinning feebly. "Yeah it is! And all my games and—and my controllers too! I have _four_!" Though he's... only ever played with one other person. _Hah_. They don't need to know that though. Besides, Trixia's so bad that she doesn't count as a, a person, she's like a computer player that isn't in with the gang.

"Four?" Nate perks up. "Heeey! We should go find Roland and get him to play too! He'd be so down for that!" And with that, the pinkette's off running toward the junior warden side of the floor, Penny meekly trailing after.

She mumbles, "Naate, he takes his studies very seriously, you know... he might not wanna—"

"Naaaaah, it'll be fiiiine." And Nate brushes that off too, so that's that. Penny doesn't try to fight it as hard this time. She still retains a fragment of a grin from Nate's whole excitement about the NS thing. He gets so... excited. It's so cute. He's so endearing, a little pink fireball of mirth.

Not long after, Torner actually does get his NS—and some books he's never read and never will read—and some really dorky pajamas—and a toothbrush he loses immediately after taking it out of the box. And a few other sundry items that he leaves in the package. Even the toothpaste. Especially the toothpaste.

It takes them like half an hour to try and fit together the stupid NS, but it turns out that nobody knows what they're doing. Plus, Torner's tablet is dead, so it's the console or nothing. Nate gets this idea to go pester some guy they all call Little downstairs and well, if he can get the NS plugged in, then there you go.

The whole horde of them thunders downstairs afterward. Except Roland, that is. Roland prefers to study his warden notes. He is a much better student than both Penny and Nate combined, though Nate doesn't bring much to that total, so it's not much of an accomplishment.


	4. A Little Trouble

Backwoods

4: A _Little_ Trouble

After their long and arduous journey down the elevator, Torner trips over a bit of carpet and lands flat on his face. He skins both of his knees and a sizable chunk of his nose in the process. B-Battle scars.

His new friends pause at the dilemma. Bright red droplets of blood dribble down his lip. Penny, face gaunt, mumbles something vague about professors and band-aids and speeds up her gait while her slower betrothed loses his thoughts, staring deep into the boy. "You did that like it was nothing, dude." Nate's mouth drapes half open as he says it. "Like... splat. There you, there ya went."

Being Nate, he then loses interest and takes Torner up by an elbow, pushing him toward a very sketchy looking buzzer door _thingy_ on the side of the chamber. While expansive and considerably pricey, the furnishing in the room comes off as old, almost: patchy wallpaper, loose carpet—as demonstrated by the fallen Torner, dust sprinkled like the ambient lack of charm over unused sofas, and even this freakishly huge crystal chandelier just sort of hanging out on the ceiling. Well, used to perhaps some degree, but not such much well taken care of. Like Torner. He could relate to that. Torner was one of those couches, or maybe he was the person who didn't take good enough care of the couches.

Entering the metal door at the end, with a puff of air, sends them into a room nonsensically unlike the one before it. Shiny tiles, the constant whirring of mechanics that gives Torner a sudden burst of anxiety, the sort of pristine, sterilized environment where every last one of his blood droplets—dotting the ground behind them like breadcrumbs—stands out.

He freezes up, snagging Nate by the hand, his pale green eyes wandering amongst the chamber. Then he up and falls all over himself when this _tiny_ robot on _little wheels_ whirrs up and begins spritzing away Torner's blood-droplets and smearing them out of recognizable existence.

Nate, altogether not so bad of a dude, pats Torner's thin, shaking shoulder.

From underneath his trembling chin, Torner mumbles, "What kind of a monster lives in this labyrinth of _doom_..."

"Aww, don't be like that." Nate, chipper as ever, is unfazed by the change of scenery. "Little's not all bad. You can even call him that to his face and he... well, he's practically harmless, so it won't stop me. I feel like he's..." Murky blue eyes crawl around the chamber. "Maybe he's, ahh, lonely? I dunno. Maybe just doesn't care. I'm not all smart like that, so I wouldn't know the difference."

Torner sputters. "Your _girl_ friend or whatever said that you passed the Warden Exam and stuff! And that's—that's impossible!"

"Umm. Yeah, I guess." Nate puffs out his freckled cheeks, murky gaze a hollow shade of disinterest. "It's not that impossible. I'unno." Shrugs at the floor.

"One of us's _lying_ , then," the boy retaliates, but he's not very threatening, and Nate doesn't even care at this point, so his grunt of attempted aggression goes on by, greatly averted.

Up ahead, down a hall tangled in cords and scrap parts that kind of resemble shanks, Penny traipses toward the boys, a smaller figure beside her. Clover green fronds of curly hair spring up about his head and bounce with his step, his tiny lab coat fluttering with his movements, his pale fingers tight around a... wait, a notepad? Geeez, is he gonna like _inspect_ Torner and stuff? Wait, why are they here in the—

Oh right. Right. His NS. He almost forgot, this place got so far into his head.

The boy raises his head and smiles in this overly practiced gesture, like he's seen too many important people in his life, or at least people who think they're important... like Mr. Stryker. "Hello there!" _Whoa_. Whoa, that voice—that is _not_ the voice of anyone anywhere _near_ Torner's age. He is... He is _young_. He's like... _eight_. Eewww. "My name's Leroy! Are you the person my friend Penny mentioned on the way here?"

Warm, coffee-colored eyes meet Torner's borderline-disgusted green. "Ummmhh, yeaaah." It comes out like a regret. It is. "Please fix my NS."

Well that changes matters considerably. Leroy's puffy green eyebrows raise. "Your... NS? You mean the video game console?" Those gentle eyes wander over Torner's body, pausing around where the bloody nose lies. "Wait! Oh—Ohhhh, no! No no no! You need to get out, r-rrrright now!"

"That's rude!" squeaks Torner in a voice not much lower than Leroy's.

"Heeey, Littl—"

"N-Nate!" cries the green-haired boy. "Nate, I asked you to stop calling me that! It's _Leroy_ , no—"

Nate, human steamroller, strides on by it. "Littleeeeee! C'monn, pleaaase! I really really need you to get his NS plugged in so we can pl—"

"That doesn't matter! He's _bleeding_ and if the vivosaur smells it then for _all_ we _know_ he'll be _devoured_!"

Everyone shuts up. "Wh-WHAT?" Penny covers her mouth with a clammy hand. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Her voice is muffled and squeaky.

"JUST... GET THAT BOY OUTSIDE PLEASE!" Leroy points out Torner again. As loud as he gets, nary a soul flinches. He's just that harmless. "BEFORE IT S-SMMMELLS THE BLOOD!"

Torner, however, isn't done yet, and he whines, "I WANT MY NS PLUGGED IN!" He and Leroy share a long, pained glance, his of pure, unbridled agony, the sort that has crushed his heart in its hands and held him mercilessly captive to the whims of his own gaming system.

Leroy's just sort of disgusted.

"FFFF-FINE WHATEVER, PLEASE GET OUT RIGHT NOW AND I WILL HELP YOU MOMENTARILY!"

Finally the redhead concedes. He allows Leroy— _Little?—_ to prod him out of his laboratory—yes, _his_ laboratory—scientific freak—and he himself prods Leroy to Nate's room—where they left the NS—flocked by an overly enthusiastic Nate and his overly alarmed lover. Roland, on a beanbag chair in a corner of the room, appears to have been studying his dumb warden textbook that Mr. Stryker forgot to give Torner ever since they left.

It literally takes the young genius a solid thirty seconds to examine the two singular cords on the end of the NS, plug one into Nate's warden... issued television—Torner's lacks one—he'll have to ask his parents for one, huh—no he's _not_ spoiled—and to attach the console securely. Then he takes the one left and affixes it to the wall outlet. He flicks on the television and the cries of Mario on his race car explode into the quiet room, soon followed by the portly plumber.

Leroy lets out a small sigh. "It really wasn't that hard. A-Ask me if you have an _emergency_ next time and... and _please_ do not enter my laboratory bleeding at this time! Usually my friend-bot Miss Spritz cleans it up well enough, but I'm examining a specimen Mister Stryker found! A-And I really don't want to know what happens if it smells or congests or comes in any other way of contact with someone else's blood..." A monumentally small sigh, and he hops off the cushion he was using as a stand, then exits.

Well, _whatever_. Torner wasn't gonna ask him to play _anyways_.

Roland—a sturdy brunette in the coolest ever tricera hoodie, not that Torner would ever tell him that—puts his stupid textbook down, and the four of them surround the television. A greedy look flickers upon Nate's face. He holds his controller as if it is something precious that must be protected with his life.

And then there's Penny and Roland who kind of stare at the nub of a joycon with this dubious expression like maybe it'll bite them if they hold it for too long.

Torner eases into the game, selects a few settings—flicking on mirror mode cuz he thinks it means he can show off—and everyone picks a racer.

To his left, Penny has a hard time choosing. Her sky blue eyes shiver with hesitance. "Nnh... Naaate," she calls behind Torner's back, "all of the characters look so colorful and lively... What if I feel bad selecting one and excluding another from the race? Plus... the princess is cute, but so is the funny green guy in the overa—"

"Ohhhh no you don't." Nate's cursor slices through the screen to hurriedly claim the funny green guy in the overalls's face-square. "I call Luigi. Luigi is the superior brother, and therefore, he is mine."

Roland makes a face between a pout and a smirk. "What's the difference between him and the red dude?" His voice is calming, soft. Kind of like he's half asleep. Maybe he is. Stupid Roland doesn't get it, doesn't get _anything_. Torner bets that he's half asleep because he was reading too much, and everyone knows reading rots your brain.

"The red dude is Luigi's older brother. He's... He's the _over_ andrarch, not the underandrarch. Luigi needs more credo and _I_ am _there_ for him."

"None of these characters exist, Nate," murmurs Roland, "so is that argument even valid?" He laughs a little to himself. Penny weakly laughs with him. Her face is a pasty shade of confusion.

Sticking out his tongue, Nate shakes his head roughly, pink curls bouncing. He pumps a fist against his chest. "Of course it is. Luigi lives on in my soul."

"I'm in love with Luigi?" mumbles Penny. "But I thought I loved you..."

Torner's face is sour. "Guyyys, just choose someone! It doesn't matter who!"

"Yes it does." Nate elbows his friend. "Luigi always matters."

Tilting back his head, Torner lets out a low whine.

He nearly grabs the others' controllers and forces some random character on them, he freaking... _ugh_ , why do they have to take so long. It doesn't even _matter_ , he's already played _all_ the characters, like a _lot_ , and they aren't even _that_ different... Not even _Luigi_ , stupid Nate...

W- _Well_ , except, except for Pink Gold Peach. She's the only one that matters a tiny bit.  
No no it's not that Torner thinks she's cute or anything because that's a f-fat lie.

Even while absorbed by his sulking for the majority of the race, Torner manages to keep his racer ahead of the others, withholding a disgustingly wide margin between himself and second place. But that's not a compliment to his skill; it's an insult to his friends'. And that's sort of how it goes. He thought winning would be a lot more fun than it is, but it's sort of hard to enjoy himself and his victories when he's got a bunch of _sore losers_ on all ends.

At the start, Penny openly displays her lack of comprehension. "Ummm, which of these... buttons... do you press to make the funny bone buggies go?"

"They're not... they're..." Nate, eyes trained on the television, gives a split second for his lover. "It's not even that hard, Penny... just press the go button..."

"They're not _bone_ buggies," mumbles Torner, "they're racing _karts_. Like... karts. Like freaking _karts_ like in the freaking game's _name_ , you... nnnghhhhh..." He goes back to his earlier assertion. "Your parents must be _terrible_... I'm not joking, either..." With a jerky motion that comes off as buttery smooth to his unskilled competitors, Torner casually laps Nate and cuts off the pinkette's grind, sending Luigi out into the grass on the side of the road.

Nate puffs out his cheeks. "Naawww! Luigiiii, go fasterrrr..." Like it helps, his thumb mashes the go button. It doesn't. "You're better than that... that _thing_ Torner chose... Man, what even is that?"

"Looks like a woman frozen in quartz." Roland's first comment as of yet. A stern expression has taken over his face; as focused as he appears, his kart currently spins in a weak circle in the literal grass. How he has yet to realize any of this is unknown. He may be looking at the wrong section of the screen, thinking he's Nate or something. Or Torner. _Ha_. What a, what a _loser_.

"Naah, looks like your mom," Nate replies, his voice low, his posture sloppy. "Tornerrrr, stop being fasssstt..."

They each lap—Torner double-laps—an unmoving Daisy. Nate's ears pink. "Pe-Penny! You didn't even try?!"

She whimpers slightly. "I don't know... I-I don't know how to make it start... I-I pressed all the buttons but it... but it didn't..." She drops her clueless head into her clueless hands.

Nate lets out a long breath, his heart in his throat. "No— _no..._ Penny... you gotta _hold_ the button, not just push it..."

"Oh!" It's astounding how quickly she perks up. "I didn't know that!" A new sense of vigor washes through her veins as one long-nailed thumb holds down on a select button and finally, with a wheezing reprieve, her yellow kart sets off puttering the course. "Aaaahhh! Naaate! Naaaaate! Look at me!" Waving the controller around over her head—she's stopped again. "I'm moovi—oh, oh, now I'm not but—but now I _am_! Naaaaate!"

He's not very impressed. In fact he hasn't even looked up from the television screen since that first time.

Penny gives her controller a dejected grin and sits back down. She tries to remember how to use the little moving stick to make her character shift and lands herself into the trunk of a tree, jolting back like it was she in her bone buggy, teeth clattering together. "That's scary!"

Perhaps out of pity, Roland is the only one giving her any attention. The brunette grins toward her, a dip of his head, a rapid, albeit pleasant, word of encouragement, and he's back to his regime of intense focus. Still spinning in his circles.

The yellow kart twists and slams against Roland's, knocking it out of orbit and sending the bulky vehicle trickling past his unintentional detour. His large-wheeled mechanism, sporting high speed, easily overtakes Penny's delicate... thing. It resembles the sort of doily one keeps on their dresser and lets collect dust for months before some unsuspecting Nate accidentally sends it to its fate off the safety of the tabletop. A million pieces, never to fit together again. One learns to love plastic when one learns to love Nate.

Another two or so maps and Torner's new friends manage to pass the computer players. Sometimes.

"Man, your parents kinda do suck, Penny!" Nate whispers it, his widened gaze reflecting the light of the wider screen in front of him. "They don't buy this sorta junk!" A voice of reverence, of awe. Oh, Nate.

"Nooooo... ohh, they just... they just want us to play outside and—and things..." But anyone, even Nate, could sense the waver of hesitation in her tone, as reluctant as it comes.

Nate sharply shakes his head. "Nuh-uhhh, television doesn't even rot your brains..."

"Yeah, books do that, duh," Torner mutters quiet enough that nobody else hears him, "everyone knows that's why old people are stupid. Cuz they didn't have video games, they just had books."

"Well..." Quietly, Roland voices himself. "I'm not... I'm not completely sure about that... It might. Stryker doesn't like video games a lot either... it's sort of in the rules not to bring these sorts of things with you... though he doesn't mind television if it's on a news feed channe—"

Suddenly Torner screams.

"WHY IS EVERYONE HERE TERRIBLE!" His face a frantic red, his eyes a pale, gaunt shade of unwelcoming. Somebody winces and someone else mutters an insult under their breath and Nate lets loose a great smattering of laughter, falling onto his back and forfeiting his hard-won fourth place medal as his racer loses speed.

Toying with a curl of his bubblegum locks, the teen shrugs against the carpet. "I dunno. I don't think we're so terrible. I mean _Stryker_ is literally insane, but... well I know for a fact that _Roland_ 's not crazy. And Penny can be a little... extensive, but she's just a sweetie, ain't no fault of hers." He blows a puff of air at the ceiling.

"No video games." Back to Torner's original fears. Video games sort of feed his life essence.

"We're... tooooo _cool_ for... video games?" Ah, Nate doesn't know. This kid is difficult. "We're usually out saving the world and stuff, so I guess video games would be a distraction. Plus, why save the world in the game when you can save the world for real!"

Penny kicks at the carpet with a slippered foot. "We don't usually do much of that though, Nate. Hahaaah... Stryker likes to take all the hard assignments for himself..." She cups her cheek and stares out into nothingness. Why is she defending Torner's point of view? "Then he doesn't sleep for almost a week and his body forcibly collapses when it can't take any more overexertion. And the cycle repeats once he accumulates enough work he's procrastinated for too long."

Oh.

The air is heavy.

"Huuf. We have problems." Nate giggles feebly. He folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes, shaking his head. The carpet electrifies his hair, jumping with static.

Somewhat dumbfounded, Roland glances at their usually chipper friend. "Where did that come from?"

At this point nobody is paying any attention to Torner's video game, and thus he sweeps into another easy win. He finally glances away from the screen. "Huh? Procrastination? Who did it?"

Sighing, Penny's head dives a little further into her palms.

"I think we're pretty cool," Nate murmurs. It's a wonder what exactly he's backing up, and why now, of all times, he chooses to. "Like... yeah, issues, but... we get the job done."

"Heh." Roland shrugs. "Unless we don't. That also happens." A remnant of a smile still dusts his lips.

Torner strangely finds himself excited to be entering a society almost solely based off of a procrastinating overexerted captain who doesn't give any of the other people in his group any work to do. Except those intimidating-looking book things Roland's lugging around. The ones Penny and Nate notably lack. On purpose. Probably.

Stryker's so full of himself, he didn't even remember to hand one to Torner. That's pretty great. Now he doesn't even have to procrastinate it, because—

 _Durk_.

And then the door props open.

Everyone stares expectantly at the movement, and Nate mutters, "It's a ghost!" It takes its time wrenching itself open, the crack widening, the gap expanding, and then this wild-looking redhead peeks through with squinted eyes, covered in extensively long scarves.

Torner is not even surprised. "Oh. Hey, Hanzo." He waves a little.

He hasn't seen his brother in weeks, and this is his idea of a long-awaited greeting.

It has been literally weeks. His ninja brother just _pops_ up every once in awhile, and it has been actual weeks since they have seen each other.

Yet in response, as if an old ritual, his older brother offers a similarly-muted nod containing some amount of hidden affection. "Wardens." The others jolt to position. Except Nate, who has yet to leave his place on his back looking up at the ceiling. "I uhhh... Well, there is no easy way to word this." He clears his throat. Almost sounds profound. "I—"

"Have a _girl_ friend? Eeeewww..." Torner sticks out his tongue at the weird-looking female who pokes her head over Hanzo's slender shoulder. "That's gross... Girls are gross..."

Penny's smile twists into a pitiful smirk. "Don't say that, Torner."

" _Yeah_ they are..." Except for Pink Gold Peach, obviously. He glances at his racer once and mouths the words, _I don't mean it_.

Penny, following his eyes, closes hers and coughs over a sarcastic laugh. " _You're_ gross."

That gets him to finally shut up.

As the others hush, Hanzo casts an apologetic glance over his shoulder and continues roughly. "I guess I found a person who was born over a million years ago?"

Silence is aborted.

"WHAT? I WANNA SEE!" Nate surges up to his feet and barrels against Hanzo, scrabbling at a vague area behind the ninja. His large hands have yet to catch anyone. "THAT'S COOOOOL! IT'S LIKE A VIDEO GAME!"

Hanzo grunts. "Except it's... not."

More scrabbling. Nate sags against the ninja with a sigh. His betrothed scoots up to him and peeks over Hanzo's shoulder. She doesn't quite sight their new guest. "Wow, two new wardens in one day?"

"Well, I... I don't know about that..."

"Yeah, but Stryker," Roland murmurs from farther back. "Wouldn't he try and force her into it? I mean he's... sort of obsessed with history. And in the past... I mean, he keeps asserting that he's _met_ other people from her, ah, time period..." Snorts. "He insists we learn history from millions of years ago..."

The ninja works at some semblance of a shrug. "He's obsessed with many things he may be better off not being obsessed with at all, but... little too late for it now." A pause. Hanzo's celadon gaze meanders Nate's messy room. He rests at the television. "Mario Kart again I see. Well." Without another thought about it he plops himself down next to Torner and scoops up Penny's discarded controller. "I could go for a round."

Torner's eyes light up. "You won't win this time! Nuh uh! I'm... I've been playing _all_ the time lately!"

"Pff. That's a waste." His older brother scoffs.

Unprotected, Duna warily faces the eager young wardens pushing towards her.

"It's not a waste!" Torner cries. "Video games are worth it!"

"No they're... _Torner_..." Slow, slow chortle. "Ah well. You never listen." His older brother selects some random character and it happens to be Luigi and somehow Nate is aware of this.

He forcibly yanks the controller out of Hanzo's grip and hands him his old one. "I'll beat you with Luigi, not the other way around! You... weirdo ninja!" And that's that.

It turns out that Hanzo is a lot better at a video game he only plays on the off chance he is both visiting his younger brother and his younger brother already has it set up... than everyone else in the room.

Standing and leaving a handful of stunned wardens in his wake, the ninja casually takes up Roland's controller and plops it in Duna's hands. Her magenta eyes scrutinize the machine. "Wh-What is this..." she mumbles. Holding it up to her face, she gently shakes the object.

Hanzo averts his gaze and laughs softly from underneath his scarf. He sits the other dinaurian down and gently teaches her the controls of the game, helping her choose a character she likes the design of—cute little Yoshi—and customize a kart that—as to her suggestion—he finds Not Terrible.

And that is how the rest of the afternoon goes. Nobody dares bring up a word to Stryker and everyone loses at a game that a ninja never even plays.

 **I wonder what the blood sample where torner screwed up and got his nosebleed everywhere is gonna mean hmmmmmmmmm**

 **I bet it has nothing to do with nibbles**


	5. Captain's Orders Except They're Lame

Backwoods

5: Captain's Orders Except They're Lame

Dawn greets the teenagers as any nightmare would: alongside their technical emperor, if someone to his esteem could be called as such.

"WHY ARE ALL OF YOU SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR OF NATE'S MESSY, DISGUSTING CHAMBER? I GIVE YOU ROOMS FOR A REASON! DO USE THEM!"

Then Stryker catches sight of the television that _totally_ wasn't on all night and _totally_ isn't still displaying the smug grin of Waluigi as he wins first place on a race that was played yesterday. He explodes even more than he was exploding before, a great skill of Stryker's.

"LOOK AT THIS! YOU'RE WASTING THE ELECTRICITY BILL AT THIS POINT, YOU! YOU—YOUUUUU!"

Those so blessed with his presence that they see him most days are particularly immune to his yelling and continue sleeping on like he hadn't shown up in the first place. Torner, however, lacks this immunity and promptly snarls as he feels his sleepy state evaporating. "Shut uuuuup, I'm tiirre—YEEEK!"

At this point the Stryker has grabbed a thirteen year old boy by his waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. "YOU'VE CAUSED SUCH A MESS! AND WHY BRING ANYTHING EXPENSIVE INTO NATE'S ROOM? HE'LL BREAK IT!" Although, at a pause of introspection, perhaps the new junior warden wouldn't know such a thing already. "AND THIS—TURN OFF THE TELEVISION!" With as little warning as he gave picking Torner up, Stryker gracelessly tosses the boy in the direction of a random couch, the boy in question squeaking profusely as he flies.

Stryker's aim when it comes to throwing children is terrible. The redhead falls on top of Penny, and then both of them are up, and the blonde freaks out and hurriedly combs her fingers through her hair. At her upright jolt, her betrothed—one hand partially around her, the other beneath his backside—begins to waken as well. The hand behind his back is asleep, and he loudly proclaims that his butt made his arm fall asleep for all in the room to hear.

"Shut up," Stryker snaps at him, abruptly pointing a gloved finger onto Torner. "YOU! TURN OFF THE TELEVISION!" And while Torner, the person he is, isn't one to listen when others bark orders at him, Stryker literally just threw him, and he's in this weird state of surreal shock. In a sort of zombiefied manner, the redhead crawls over toward the big screen by the wall and switches it off, bending over to shut down his console as well.

A standstill. The chief warden slowly draws his incisive gaze about the chamber and its inhabitants. His lip curls and he stomps a booted foot against the ground. Those still asleep _still_ have yet to waken.

Noting this, Torner scuttles over to his older brother—crashed on one of the wayward couches with a controller balanced upon his chest—and tugs at his sleeve. "Wake up," he hisses, face hot, "be-before Mi-Mister Stryker _eats_ us for _breakfast_."

His younger brother's light touch is enough to twitch the older redhead out of his rest. Ninjas can do weird things like that. "Nnnh..." Hanzo's muddled celadon eyes fog as he glazes over the exploding Stryker in the room. "Oh, great..." His voice rests at a mumble.

"WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN, HANZO?" Apparently, Stryker doesn't know how to stop shouting.

"Because I'm not... omniscient?" Blinking from behind a palm, Hanzo squints up at his... _superior_. Or supposedly so. Hanzo, like his brother, is not very good at answering up to others. "I don't know, why did _you_ let thi—"

"HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT SUCH A SITUATION WOULD POSITIVELY OCCUR?"

Hanzo blinks again. "You tell me."

"I'M ASKING YOU RIGHT NOW! SURELY IT IS OBVIOUS THAT I DON'T KNOW THE ANSWER TO YOUR RIDICULOUS INSIGHT!"

Lacking anything else to do, with a scoff, the warden leader begins pacing about Nate's cluttered room, knocking a gloved hand against Roland as he goes by. The chubby lad nods himself up and glances soundlessly toward his reason for having woken. A dull stare of nonsurprise conjures upon him.

The two closest to Hanzo's proximity make quick work of huddling close to him: his younger brother practically sitting on his lap, and Duna, who was more or less passed out on the rug halfway beneath the couch, shoving herself against him, forcing room for herself on the couch. Her legs overlap Torner's.

Magenta eyes stiffen. It's like she can feel Stryker's burbling dissent in the air, crawling up her scales, leaving her miserable and chilled.

After thoroughly stalking Nate's room and kicking a few choice objects under his bed, Stryker clears his throat. His pale skin has more or less lost its frothy flush of red, merely patchy sentiments remaining of his earlier outburst. Coughing into his fist, he straightens himself, and boy, his back goes _straight_.

"Junior wardens, wardens, annd... ah... Hanzo." Stryker's gaze skitters right on over Duna, like his sleepless brain can't even register her right now. Also... why does Hanzo get his own rank? "Doctor Leroy has been experimenting with a strange new specimen that I discovered recently for some few days now." Stryker, since he tends to shovel all of the wardens' affairs onto himself, is usually tired enoguh to miss important details such as the dinaurian right in front of his face. Hanzo would know. He's been at this for some time now. "I would like the lot of you to take Torner to teach him of the _honorary_ and _distinguished_ role that is of a warden."

Judging by the bags under his eyes, Stryker had another of _those_ nights recently.  
Because _obviously_ the lead warden is above sleep.

Of course.

Nate halfheartedly raises his hand. He doesn't speak until Stryker makes a funny gesture with his own. "Uhhhh, what're we doing, exactly? I think you forgot that part."

"I DID NO SUCH—" Pause. The brunette takes a decisive silence to gain his bearings. "Oh. It seems I misplaced my words. Well, that goes to show that not even I am above _fail_ ure." Though it won't stop him from pretending otherwise. He should probably go take a nap. Who knows if he will. "Consider it one of your many lessons of the day." Of course they don't. "Your mission is to take the strange specimen out of doors to Paradise Beach and determine his interaction with rogue vivosaurs and with the wild in general, alongside Leroy."

Not even a second passes before Nate's hand is up again. Stryker grudgingly points at the cheeky pinkette. "That's boring, though. Can't I jus—"

" _No_ , Nate." A sort of malice glints in the warden chief's gaze, a deep and dark one connecting pieces of another day, another time, where his could-be warden _star_ blew something else off. Perhaps yesterday, which Stryker never did get to yelling at him about, now did he. Ah well. He has to get these kids doing _some_ thing before they lose interest again. "Take this seriously if you ever want to do something not considered 'boring' again." Ungrateful scraps.

"Baaaaah," is his response. Nate rolls over into his betrothed and stuffs his face into her neck. He stays like that. Penny giggles feebly as the attention spans of everyone else in the room rolls on top of her.

Silence again. Stryker stirs. "Any other questions?" Pointedly, his incisive gaze cuts through the faces of everyone else in the roo—"OH MY GOODNESS WHAT IS THAT?"—finally landing on Duna's and registering the fact of her existence.

Hanzo's eyes pinch at the edges. "She's not going with you unless I'm going too."

"Bu—"

"You might yell at her or something."

"Bu—"

"Oh come on. You yell at everyone." He doesn't have to point out the last few seconds, which register in a frantic flush upon Stryker's face.

Grudging silence. Stryker shuts his eyes, his foot tapping incessantly. "Alright, _fine_. Hanzo and his... ah, friend"—his voice spiking an octave or two too high—"with me. Everyone else—Paradise Beach. With Leroy. No excuses." His eyes open again and he silently mutters the names of everyone present to himself in some attempt to keep attendance. "Oh, ah, and this is yours, Torner."

Torner is buffeted by his sizes-too-big Official Junior Warden Jacket while his apparent leader is already halfway out the door. He makes a muffled cry and then falls onto the carpet like a rag doll. Hanzo proffers a single glance in his brother's direction, steps over the boy, takes Duna gently by the elbow, and leads her out.

It takes more coaxing to get Torner off the floor again.

Slowly, reluctantly, the wardens left shuffle back into their rooms and try to make themselves at least somewhat presentable. As it is usually with Stryker, there is no warning whatsoever as to when any of their next shifts—if that is what to call them—come, so Penny and Roland at least are already used to this strict regiment and finish preparations shortly.

However, Nate has allegedly lost his warden jacket, so he slides into the hallway wearing a suspiciously-smelling hoodie. His lover's lip wavers. "Na-Nate! You wore that last week! A-And it's obviously not yet washed!"

"Ehhhh." He shrugs. "I mean, Stryker won't care. I can just say I got cold and wore it on top of my jacket." It's probably under his bed or something. Stryker probably unintentionally kicked it under his bed or something—unless it _was_ intentional...

"Well _I_ care! I don't want to be walking around with you smelling like that!"

Enough arguing gets him back inside to change again. He nearly trips over Torner's NS; they couldn't figure out how to get it out of the wall, so it's just sort of a permanent part of Nate's ever-growing mess for now.

While this is going on, the redhead himself struts out of his room, licking a finger to toy with one of his spikes and try to make it stand up a little straighter. He instead watches it flop onto his face gracelessly. And then it won't stand up again. But Penny's impatient, and once Nate's out, they leave promptly and... somewhat tactfully.

Roland is hardly a part of any of this. He's very pleasant in that sense, quiet and prepared, but not quite overstated about himself. What a bro.

Thinking about it, Torner nearly goes up to the lad in his tricera hoodie—peeking out from the bland orange of his junior warden jacket—to say something about how much of an utter bro he is, but he realizes that he may never conjure the courage to converse with Roland.  
Roland's too comfortable with himself. This thirteen-year-old mess might just fall apart entirely if he dares utter a word to someone as well put together as he.

Darn it. If only Torner wasn't such a _mess._

The ragtag group of warden members takes the elevator down to the bottom floor and spills out through the main platform of Regis. Torner nearly runs into, like, five people on the way through, and then he stubs his knee again and it's just not fun at all—and then he discovers the art of bone buggies.

This guy with a long, dark braid and way more patience than Stryker gives Torner a small basis of what the heck a bone buggy is, what the heck a bone buggy does and all other bone buggy needs that promptly swim out of Torner's brain. Then he just sort of ships the lot of them in one buggy—this super sleek, super high-tech automobile thingy—with directions on a virtual map for Paradise Beach like this is normal or whatever.

He'd probably make a terrible parent, with that way of teaching.

Idle chitchat in the buggy revolves around him. "Yeaah, Liu Ren's so chill." Nate. "He's like the guide for... Regis, I guess? Sort of? But anyways he's _super_ cool and if Stryker ever makes you upset or anything, just tell Liu Ren and he'll, like, be _on_ it. He is the _actual_ coolest. He's like the only person that can get Stryker to stop being a butthead."

"Pff." Penny, nuzzling into her lover's shoulder. "He is really a really nice guy... But his kids are so scary!"

Oh what do you know it turns out the guy who shouldn't have kids _has kids_.

Then again, Torner's parents shipped him off to his aunt and uncle back when he was an actual baby, what does he know about good parenting.

Roland, from the driver's seat—his careful hands steady on the wheel—quips in. "They're similar, and yet... so _different,_ too. Mei Lan is absolutely terrifying, so I suggest you stay out of her way, Torner. If I know anything about what I've seen from you so far, you do _not_ want to run into her." Because Roland is Roland, the redhead takes this information in wholeheartedly. "Her brother... maybe steer clear of him too. He's scary in his own right."

"Tch..." Nate smirks. "Good ol' Lei One."

"You mean Leon!" His betrothed's softer, a smile perking up her expression. "He doesn't like it when you call him that, remember? He gets all _edgy_ and stuff about it..." The two share a heartfelt laugh.

There's a bare—though not a bad—silence. Torner starts. "W-Wait, where do we meet the vivosaur thingy?"

Roland examines some of the messages scrolling up the partially-digital screen of their bone buggy. "Uhhhhh... I believe that we're meeting Leroy there? I'm realizing that Stryker didn't give the specifics, but if Liu Ren didn't mention it, and we didn't see him in the lobby... then I'm sure it's fine. You start to assume things'll work out when you're a warden. That's sort of our daily life."

"Pshshhh! Remember that one time that Stryker like _forgot_ to _feed_ us?"

Giggling, Penny gently shoves her lover. "You mean right now?" And apparently because that's all they can do about it, they go off and laugh again.

"No, no!" Nate again. "I mean that one time! We'd like had that _super_ intense mission at Starry Falls and Lei-Lei broke his arm and Sapphire was, like, yelling the _heck_ out of us, and you were freaking out and all, and then we get back and Stryker's so stressed he doesn't remember until the next day? Maaan, that sucked."

"Lei-Lei? Sa-Sapphire?" squeaks Torner.

Roland rectifies. "Sapphire's another warden. She's... very skilled." Suspicious wince. "Oh, and Lei-Lei is just Leon. Nate finds great amusement in the usage of nicknames."

"Huuu!" cries the pinkette in question. "That I do."

Penny starts. "Ohhhh! I remember that mission! You ended up, like, carrying us all when those vivosaurs struck! You took everything seriously, and if Leon wasn't busy trying not to cry, I bet he would've finally understood why Stryker made you a warden!" Another round of affectionate laughter.

Soon after, their sleek bone buggy pulls out into a clearing. To Torner's relief, a second bone buggy—this one squat and practically stuffed with drills and other really dangerous-looking modules—prowls in wait for them. A _bzzzt_ noise alerts the group of an incoming call: just like that, Leroy's puffy little kid face pops up onto the screen. "Hey, friends! Thanks for coming!

"So, ummm... I'll just let Rasa out here, and we'll see what happens, okay?" The green-haired kid doubles back. "Oh, and! Have your vivosaurs on belay, since there's a few rogues out nearby! We don't wanna hurt the poor tyke!"

Nate has the audacity to wait for Leroy to finish before responding. "Soo uh... why Rasa? That's such a... random name. How about _Nate_? Nate is a good name."

"Not _that_ good!" Leroy snorts, which is always an amusing sound coming from an eight-year-old. "He doesn't even _look_ like a Nate! Rasa, like tabula rasas!" Nobody knows what that means. "Naaww, they were these little robot-looking creatures from millions of years ago who used to help the dinaurians and other people with all sorts of things! So I... _Rasa_!"

Still goes over everyone's heads, but hey, he tried. With that stalemate, a hatch protrudes outward on Leroy's bone buggy and out shoots a cute tiny scaly biped with huge eyes and a fiery color.

Grinning beside herself, Penny lets out a soft coo. "Aww, he's so cute, Leroy!"

"Yeaaaah, Little!" cries Nate, for no other reason than to throw in the nickname.

Everyone is in a hushed awe as they observe the critter scouting its area. Great green eyes that dominate the vivosaur's snout scan the peaty landscape, taking in a few trees farther out and some wild swathes of glass lightly floating in a breeze. He sniffles, then snorts, then trots importantly up to the larger bone buggy.

It's quiet until he climbs up to the window.

 _THUKK._

Then he slams his face against the glass.

It is a very unusual occurrence. Penny squeaks. Torner flinches.

"Umm... Anything I should do?" Roland glances up at their predicament without much expression. Rasa's tongue flickers in and out of his tiny mouth. The tiny monster hits himself against the glass again, sending a shudder across the vehicle.

Leroy's eyes glisten as his forehead bunches up. What an unnerving look on a child. "I'd say he wants in. On be _lay_ , though! Don't let his outward appearance fool you! I feel a highly radioactive presence about him!"

"Doesn't that mean he's not safe," Nate mumbles, "because that sounds a lot like that mea—"

"Psshhh, it's finnne." Leroy's assurance is not very assuring, eight-year-old mastermind or no.

But they don't have any other ideas, so, with care, Roland deactivates the glass and lets the small vivosaur plow in. He immediately springs onto Torner's lap and stays like that unmoving. The boy he sits on releases whimpers of increasing discomfort.

Silence. "He's not leaving." More silence. "He's _really_ not leaving, guys..." Evermore silence. "Guyyysss... get him off..."

This goes on for some while longer. Finally shrugging, Nate stands. "Yeah, sure." He casually lopes over to the redhead and wraps his hands around Rasa's underbe—

"RRRRRGGG _GGGHHHHHHHHHHHH—_ "

"UMMMMM _MMMMM_ S-SSSSSORRY TORNER BUT I THINK I'M GONNA NOT DO THAT EVER AGAIN." He abruptly drops the vivosaur and scoots over to Penny, hiding his face in her hair. She tugs him into an embrace, patting her betrothed's back. Peace returns like a true dawn upon the warden's obscured face.

The boy dully blinks, then tosses his head back. Spiky red hair falls over his dark eyes. "I bet this is cuz of my _blood..._ "

"Hmm." Roland's gaze touches over the vivosaur. "He even... resembles you. How uncanny."

"Buhhh? No he doesn't. He's just a _dumb_ , _ugly vivosa—_ "

"No, no..." Penny catches it too. She twists a finger around one of her blonde curls. She's left her hair down today, shimmering in a waterfall of gold. "He does! See, look—the red scales, Torner's red hair... and the green eyes match too!" She gasps, "This is astounding! Le-Leroy, what does it mean?" turning feverishly toward the screen as Roland presses a switch and it reassembles.

The scientist stares. Then he noticeably relaxes, sagging into his chair. "Oh, no."

Torner's lip quivers. "It's because of my _blood_ , isn't it..."

"Um..." There is no easy answer. "Probably? I-I had Rasa with me yesterday—I was still trying to stabilize him, and... somehow the blood must've..." There is _no_ easy answer. "I have... I have no idea. Did he smell it and try to... copy your appearance? Did he get a taste of it somewhere?"

Torner starts his pathetic mewling all over again, a moue flat across his lips.

Not much he can do about it, though.

With that, whether he wants it or not, Torner is gifted his first vivosaur.


	6. Terrible, Albeit Free, Vivosaur

Backwoods

6: Terrible, Albeit Free, Vivosaur

Torner squirms, all but still, until he finally decides to shove the ugly red vivosaur out of his lap. Capsized, Rasa slaps against metal floor, his head awkwardly placed underneath a shoulder, and he begins to whine loudly. His giant green eyes stare deeply into the thirteen-year-old.

"Whoa, dude." Nate points at the sight. "It's like... Rasa won't move unless Torner commands him to!" His grassy eyes smolder. "Daaaang! Torner, Torner! That is soooo _rad_! You should make him do something stupid like try and sniff his own butt!"

Nate finds this hilarious, tipping his head back into a bout of laughter; none of the others share his enthusiasm, and his voice quietly recedes into the null. Only after he stops does his betrothed, holding onto his arm, speak. "Heh, yeah... Yeah!"

"Sniff his own butt?"

Sputtering, Penny shakes her blushing head. "No, Nate! That's... gross! Not that at _all_!" She pouts at Rasa. The glistening pity in her gaze makes Torner squirm. He almost steps on the little buttnugget. "I mean, that's really cool! Torner, you're like... Rasa's father!"

The thought of it gleans an incredible lack of appeal. Torner goes so far as to crawl into his seat and turn around and hide his face in the fabric.  
Thirteen-year-olds can't be _parents_. He still had... s-so much to _live_ for...

Being a parent means his life is over... Torner doesn't want his life to be over... Now everything sucks...

"Umm! Hello, everyone? Everything okay over there?"

Leroy's outburst shakes the wardens out of their Rasa-induced stupor—but for Torner, who continues to cry into his chair: a gloppy, inconsolable mess.

"Wh-What is it?" Roland, ever the responsible one of their not at all responsible team, raises his head and gives the boy genius his full attention. Penny and Nate return to quietly speculating over the situation that is Rasa. Torner hasn't altered his position whatsoever.

"I was just thinking..." Leroy drags his clover green gaze over the party. "Where does this leave Rasa? Sh-Should I leave him with Torner? Will the tyke allow me any other options?" His eyes lid. It looks like he's tasting what he just said, a sort of foul backwash. "Oh. _No_. I do _not_ do that." Shakes his head solidly, with this sort of authoritative weight that does not belong vested within an eight-year-old's body. "I should pack him up with me and study him further. It's certainly the safest thing to do." Funny how the safest thing to do is let the youngest of them all keep the mutant vivosaur in custody. Then again, look at Torner.

Leroy closes his eyes for a moment and nods to himself. "Ye-Yeaaah... that's probably it." Lets out a breath. He wipes under his eyes, his gait shifting, like a boulder has settled onto his shoulders. "Can you get Torner to listen to me for a moment? I need to ask him for some... help with Rasa. I still don't know anything about his experience with the environment, and it really would be useful to know about th—"

"Blabbity blabbity _gotcha_ Little!" Nate snaps and hurls over his seat to squeeze into Torner's. They don't really fit. Nate's sliding off, but he's fighting it. "Heeeeey buddy! Can you, like, _command_ Rasa to go jump out a window or somethin'? It's for Little, and Little's, like, a billion percent cooler than Stryker—"

"A billion is a very unlikely percentage!" calls the child from the windshield's screen.

The pinkette ignores him. Why would he not want to be better than Stryker by a billion percent? "Meh. Either way, disappointing him's not all that cool, little duder."

"Heh..." Roland smiles softly—with an edge—at the monitor. "You're the one who seeks to purposely indict a reaction out of him by the nickname _Little_ , Nate. I get the feeling that you, good sir, are a paradox."

"I'm a paradox!" he declares, "yeaaah! Paradox dude! Sounds like a superhero!"

"Or a supervillian," Roland mutters under his breath, his face a narrowed, sardonic mask.

Oblivious Nate goes on back to the problem at hand, poking and prodding their stubborn vivosaur. "Torneerrrrr, it's like basic principles on the Science of Wardenhood and Other Imposing Factors that you gotta be good to Little! C'monnnnnnnn! The sooner we do this, the sooner we get to cheese Stryker for forgettin' to feed us again!"

Torner's stomach makes the decision to growl at that exact moment, loosening an easy grin on Nate's face. "See? Call of nature! Only _you_ can save us, dude!" More prodding, some pulling here and there. With a disgruntled cough—though not much of a change in face—Nate slides his tan fingers under the stubborn boy's stomach and yanks him off his seat, flailing hands and crude demeanor and all.

Flopping him onto the floor, Nate blocks off his attempt to escape, and Torner crashes onto the metal floor, back first. "Duuude, just tell 'im to pop out the window! Easy done, easy done! Maaan, why're you bein' so difficult and stuff?"

"I don't _wan_ na be a parent!" Torner lets loose a scream.

Penny cups her bored face and mumbles, "Then don't look at it like that, I guess..." A sad string of penance bumbles under her tone. "I'm sorry... I just thought it was so sweet..." She stares out the window, waiting for it all to be over with.

"Heeey, duude, don't make Penny cryyyy... that's like... not cool, man..." Pouting, Nate gently pushes his redheaded friend forward. "Just... I'unno. Go make Rasa do stuff? Uhhh, please?"

At the toll of Torner's shuffling toes, Roland flips some fob, and down the sliding glass of the windows fall, letting sunshine sprinkle into the bone buggy. At the sight of it, Torner hisses.

Nate gasps. "He's a vampire," he whispers to his betrothed, " _that's_ why he's so pale."

Penny turns around and stares up into Nate's clear blue gaze. She sees her smiling self reflected back. "Nate! That's not very nice!"

Torner, focused on his task, weakly kicks Rasa with a foot, and utters in a scant, reluctant sputter: "Rasa, go... jjjjump out the window." Just like that. In seconds—

 _BURSHH_ he springs off the grou—

 _BUFFF_ off the seat an—

 _pufpffhb_ onto the peat far below. Hardly breaks a sweat. It's all over in a matter of seconds.

Watching it alone causes Torner to lose his breath. He wheels around and falls blankly onto his seat.

While he's busy panting, Nate glances from red vivosaur to redhead to vivosaur again, his mouth partially agape. "Maaaaan... _I_ want a li'l... _minion_ like that! That would be so coool..." Pausing, his eyes slowly crawl over to his betrothed's side. "Heey Pennyyyyy, you wanna be my li'l minion?"

"Pfff..." Her laughter hacks the edge off of his questionable request. "Naaate! I don't think I can be both your to-be wife _and_ your minion, it just wouldn't work out all that well and stuff! You know?" Her cheeks a bright flush, her smile lingering on her lips.

"Ahh man..." Nate puffs a sigh. "Yeah, yeah... that's true..." Staring up at the ceiling, he sticks out his tongue. "That'd probably make our relationship, like, abusive, and that's not exactly good."

Penny can't respond for a moment of her laughter. "I love how we just _casually_ talk about these types of things like they're no big deal!"

"Yeah but... they _are_ no big deal." Nate rubs an eye. His pink curls sway about his low-key slouching posture.

She simply laughs all over again, leaning against him and almost tipping the both of them out of their chair. Then they're _both_ laughing. _Geez_ , with all that _laughing_ , it's like no _wonder_ they're together and stuff. Torner grimaces into his hands. Dating is _gross_. People dating are _gross_.

"Hey Rolaaaaaand!"

"I'm not... Don't even ask me to be your minion, alright? That sounds... so terrible."

"Buh—"

The chubby brunette chuckles for himself, then. "Ask... _Daisy_ , if you must ask someone. She would accept, if anyone, since she's so obscenely selfless." Small smirk. Not a mean one—Roland isn't quite malevolent enough to manage that sort of look on his face—but simply one of nostalgia.

"Is that the other warden?" Torner suddenly blurts. The others jolt at the fact that he's not still moping over... whatever it is he was moping over. "Cuz—Cuz Stryker said that there were _two_ junior wardens and _two_ wardens in Regis right now! Like, _living_ in Regis. And you're... threeeeee people... so..." He pouts.

Penny smiles kindly at his expression. "Oh, yes, that's correct! There's one more of us in... uhhh, _currently_ permanent arrangements here in Regis. Heh, you never know with Stryker..." She mumbles that last part, but as if in direct contrast with that she pushes her voice into a boisterous jump afterward. "Mei Lan! She's the other warden! Heheh, but I guess it's five of us now that you're here." Such a... welcoming joy on her face.

Not that Torner acknowledges any of it. "But... Roland said that was the scary one!"

"So... why would her reputation prevent her from living wherever Stryker plants her?" Roland's tone isn't unkind... almost more like he's chastising a foolish child. "I'm only warning you that she'll certainly be around when we return, and you'll want to stay out of her way if you know what's good for you."

Torner gasps. "She'll break my NS!"

"Oh, oh I didn't..." Then Nate gasps too. "Noooo! Not the NS!"

Roland's eyes stare blankly into the screen, where an oblivious Leroy shimmers on and off as he hurries his notes into a tablet. Looking up once, he catches onto the conversation. "She... _Guys_ , you're giving her a lot less respect than she deserves. Just because she's a little stronger than she thinks she is doesn't mean she'll go out of her way to hurt you. She is a very cool friend to have!" Rolls his eyes in a weirdly not cruel way. Affectionate, but not really...

"Y-You and your _friends_! I bet you'd call Rasa a _friend,_ which is dumb because Rasa's ugly and dumb!" And that's all Torner can think about now. Like he's Torner's older lackey, Nate lets out a small groan. Then they lash out into a foray of complaints and dislikes and fears and _not the NS_ in ghastly cries that Penny and Roland make quick work ignoring, the first unable to cease a small giggle or two here and there.

Then the screen buzzes and everyone is set on edge again. Quickly Roland responds, dutiful listener he is. "What is it, Lero—"

"LO-LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW AND TELL ME!"

All present look out their respectable window. Torner's faces the exact opposite direction of where Rasa currently lies, so he doesn't note much of interest and yells back, "HEY, YOU LIAR, THERE'S NOTHING THERE!"

"THE OTHER WINDOW!" Leroy screeches in turn, his tone of biting exasperation. With a squeak, Torner glances out _the other window_ , stepping out of his chair and raising on his tippy toes to glance past Penny and Nate's heads, only to find that the tiny red vivosaur is casually being stomped on by a very much larger vivosaur.

Slow giggles. Torner mutters, " _Paradise Beach_." More giggles. He can't keep a straight face.

"Ohhhh shhhooot that's right, on belay or whatever! If I'm honest, I forgot what that word means for a minute theeereee..." Nate belatedly tosses a crisp green medal out the window. It lands in a puff of peaty dust, and out explodes a scaled quadruped, its back shimmering with green scales and a _sail_ , like a _white_ and _orange_ sail just sort of _chilling_ on its _back_. Quick to follow is Penny's red medal, expanding into a much smaller biped practically stuffed with feathers. Its large, bright green eyes bore into Torner's soul, and then he has to crouch on the bone buggy's floor where that _demon_ won't see him.

He hastily glances over a bit of window to keep check on the situation, in time to watch Nate's edapho leap into the air and chomp onto the larger vivosaur's leg.  
Vivosaurs, he begrudgingly admits, are maybe a little bit awesome, but only a little bit.  
He is totally _not_ thinking about how much he wishes he'd kept his ugly mutant.

The edapho and hypsi awkwardly watch as the large vivosaur continues grinding Rasa into the ground with his heel. Eventually, emitting a _bark_ sort of noise, the green quadruped skitters over to the large one—hrmmm, turquoise scales and a green underbelly—spinax?—and attempts another nip at his foot. It turns out the spinax is a freaking softly and _yips_ , lamely flopping over and kicking his pursuer back in a motion that almost doesn't work, it's so gentle.

Nate weakly calls, "Uhhh, Tater! Keep... feigning at him! Like, draw him back!" And so Tater does. He raises his scaled tail and lashes it threateningly, a growl sticking in the back of his throat as he draws closer.

"And! And help cut him off, Nickel! Don't let that spinax get any closer to Rasa!" Penny, not one to stand by, practically shoves her betrothed out of the way while calling to her flaming red hypsi.

Nervous Torner stands by. He kind of really wants a vivosaur to hold on belay and, and stuff.

Just as swiftly as it had come, the spinax is drawn back out of the clearing until the vivosaurs chasing it have assured he won't be brave enough to return anytime soon. "What a... wimpy vivosaur," observes Roland, his face pinching, "usually a spinax is much more of a... noble, aspiring creature. One others tend to look up to."

"Well. The label on the box isn't always right!" Nate grins; to his chagrin, Roland doesn't.

"The label on the box is supposed to be right, though."

The boisterous pinkette shrugs. "Yeah, but that's a total stereotype, duder. Don't dooo thaat."

Roland considers it, then shuts his mouth politely. "Fair."

Through the assistance of Nickel and Tater, tiny red Rasa is ushered into a hatch on Leroy's glistening bone buggy. He's quick to shut the thing once the poor creature's inside... like in that state it'd do much more than cough feebly, much less try to terrorize Torner a second time.

"I-I think it's best if we hurry on home now. Heh, poor Rasa."

Of course Torner finds this the perfect time to intercede. "Yeaaah, but Lerrooyyy! _I_ want a vivosauur!"

The green-eyed child gives him _quite_ the stare. "You lack cleaning tools, proper etiquette, and timing. So ummm..." He blushes. "Maybe another time? Oh! I heard on my tracker at some point that Mei Lan was finishing up a misson somewhere; you could ask her to take you out once we come back. She's really good at—"

"Ummm, why don't I just ask—"

Leroy shrugs. "Well, of course, I'll need the help of our two JWs and Nate with situating Rasa, especially since he should... probably now recognize their vivosaurs as friendly, something I'll need to monitor and look into, and also you're—um" _—useless_ flashes over his gaze—"nnnnot qualified to assist me quite yet!"

"Heeey, uhhh, Mei Lan's not _that_ bad, dude," Nate mumbles, weakly smiling. "Besides, if she's back, Stryker'll totally remember to get food for us! So uhhhh... lucky you! Eating breakfast while we starrrveeee!"

"Naaaate! W-We won't be starving! It's just a... delayed breakfast!" Penny's face mirrors her betrothed's.

Roland snorts. "Delayed like our belayed vivosaurs. We had this coming."

"Baaaaaaahhhh... I'm still jealoussss." Nate sticks out his tongue at Torner, albeit affectionately.

And with that, Torner readily signs his death warrant.

Ah well. It was okay being alive while it was. He'd just miss his NS, but at least none of the cool games are out yet. Maybe he can play them in the afterlife? Ooooh, but if Mei Lan breaks his NS too, then maybe it'll go to the afterlife with him.  
If he goes to the afterlife.

…

"YOU TELL ME I CAN'T DO WHAT IS MOST INDUBITABLY NECESSARY WITH SOMEONE AS GORGEOUSLY TALENTED AS— _SHE_?!"

Hanzo's yet to flinch. This isn't the first time he's been yelled at like this; in fact, Stryker isn't even the first person to yell at him like this. His voice is thin, on the verge of curt, but an unmistakably bored droll trips over his otherwise strict demeanor. "Just... stop yelling already, you're frightening Duna..." Hanzo can't do strict.

In fact, he _is_ scaring Duna, if he'd just get his head out of his butt and look. Goes on like this and there's no way she'd sign up to be a warden.

"CUTTING OFF MY PERHAPS DRAMATIC TONE WILL NOT ASSIST ME IN CONVINCING DUNA THAT SHE BELONGS WITH THE WARDENS' ADMINISTRATION!" Because she... what? Hanzo winces.

"That's just... not nice." Because it's not, and Hanzo tries to call him out on these things, whether he likes it or not. "If you keep acting like this, I will actually get Liu Ren up here. I will actually—"

"YOU WOULD NOT DA—"

"—go downstairs, and take Duna with me—"

"HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A VIL—"

"—tell Liu Ren to come up with me—"

"HUSH, HANZO, STOP YOUR BLASPHE—"

"—and he would calm you down. I will do all of those things if you do not actually chill." His lip curves into a sly grin; he knows, he _knows_ that Stryker wouldn't want the Regis head to see him all worked up like this for the umpteenth time.

Hanzo's sort of a master at getting a point across when it comes to Stryker. He has it down to, like, a pathetically easy win.

Stryker always gets that way when someone mentions Liu Ren.  
He thinks it isn't obvious whatsoever, but it totally is.

Wheezing laughter—angry laughter—slowly washes out into small, sad hiccups, ended with a sigh. Stryker drags his bitter dark gaze along the walls so he doesn't have to look into Hanzo's. His breathing trembles on his lip, an edge of a storm still threatening to surge, but it has evidently lost the willpower to wage. "Yes, yes... We don't need Liu Ren coming up at this time. He's a very busy man. Very busy, very accomplished..." Stryker's eyes suspiciously glaze over.

"Ha." Hanzo's cut off sort of laugh. It's what he does while in Stryker's presence. "I don't understand why his desk stays on the floor below you. I must say you would be in a much, ahh, _safer_ state of mind if he moved up here." Imploring green eyes seek for Stryker's.

He doesn't get it, but he also didn't expect to, so...

Duna clutches his arm tightly, her breath still coming out in gasps, the poor soul. He wraps his free arm around her and lets her shudder under his shadow, where she can pretend Stryker's not looking at her. Like, he's _not_ , for once, but... well. Doesn't feel like that to her.

"That is—!" An angered blush settles upon Stryker's pale cheeks. He tries—and fails—to shake it off. "Liu Ren is a _very_ busy man, and alongside the warden duties he _honorably_ upholds, even going so far as to assist me in mine while I'm _wasting_ away my time with you"—no, Hanzo isn't insulted, it's _Stryker—_ "he also has two children to take care of. Which he does very well."

A curled smirk raises Hanzo's lip. "Two children who are not his biological progeny but actually his late brother's, therefore meaning that Liu Ren has not procreated with a female and therefore has not been in a relationship with a female that would thus allow him to procre—"

"SI-SILENCE."

"Hahahhh..." Not that Liu Ren would be interested. Oh _wait_ , if he spends _so much_ time easing Stryker of his pain, being around Stryker and helping Stryker and possibly genuinely enjoying Stryker's company... _Ha_. Well, it's been obvious: Stryker is... hilariously pathetic in the areas of his heart.

Not that Hanzo didn't know this already. It's just kind of sad Stryker still has yet to act on his very abundant intel. Ah well.

The standstill drags on. Hanzo turns to his new friend. "Duna, do you want to be a warden or not?" He drags his gaze across the desk to hit Stryker.

"A-Ah..." Her fingers clasp around his almost as if... greedily sucking in the proffered warmth. She keeps her head low, her eyes wandering aimlessly along the excessive mosaic tile. "Um... I-I..." Deep breath. Steadies herself. "I suppose it... would be for the best, a-as I am lost in this... new world... hopelessly without an idea as to—"

"Yy _yyyyes_ ," Stryker hisses and then pauses and mutters, "do go on."

But Duna doesn't wanna go on now, so Hanzo goes on for her. "She's on missions with me. I don't care if some of the others are there too, but I'm pretty much the only person she knows, and you are not throwing her into the midst without a second thought of it."

Like Stryker cares. "Yeah, yeah, sure," he waves them off. "Duna, I'll send you a warden jacket at some time, full on warden, I don't care that you haven't taken the test or... any of those things. You are clearly capable of great feats." His eyes teeter ominously over a stack of paperwork on his desk. "No no, don't worry about anything. I'll set you up and you can _hang around your boyfriend_ if you see fit."

"H-He is not m—" She breaks herself off and lamely stares at the ground again.

"Stryker..." Smiling meekly under his scarf, Hanzo shakes his head. He adjusts his gloves and nods shortly after, assured that they won't slip off anytime soon, even with Duna's inadvertent tugging on them. "We'll be going now."

And that's that. They just sort of walk out as Stryker's about to pick off that top layer of papers. The cover one reads _About My Late Sister_ and the wrinkled texture of it suggests that as safely as it had been stowed away, time incessantly left its mark.

 **heheheh the ABOUT MY LATE SISTER thing is stuff Raptin wrote about her a long long time ago, back when he was still alive and stuff. (In my headcanon, Raptin and Duna are siblings. Yes I know they don't have the same last names but naaah I don't care)**

 **Oh! one other thing  
AS YOU CAN TELL, THERE IS A SPINAX IN THIS STORY  
WHY?  
BECAUSE IT SHOULD BE.**


	7. No Say

Backwoods

7: No Say

Torner jumps out of the bone buggy upon reaching the garage. From there, he runs straight into a woman over a head taller than him.

Frosty eyes, like those of particularly sharp blue gems, edge into him. A scoff and she steps back, brushing Torner germs off the black sleeve of her... whoa, at first glance it looked like a leotard but now he's not sure... it's a very _complicated_ looking bit of cloth—oh hey, he recognizes that design. It's one of the expensive things his parents made, inlaid with the... sapphires on her thighs and a matching one in her hair.

Whoa... _Whoa_ , he's _seen_ this girl before.

Beside her, a purple-haired girl somewhere around Torner's age shuts up mid-sentence and shoots burning eyes his way. Nate breaks off of a tangent Torner hadn't even noticed he was rambling into, spares one glance at the purple-haired girl, and with a weak chuckle snatches Penny's hand and bids Torner adieu. Just like that.

"He—Hey! Guys! D-Don't leave me like this! Wh-Why're you _leaving_!"

Roland pushes past the boy, a faint smile on his lips. "Mei Lan," he greets, nodding somewhat to the shorter girl, then claps Torner on the shoulder. His bright eyes shout a warning in the redhead's face that remains stained in Torner's periphery even after the lad follows after Leroy. And then Torner's all alone except for two, uh, scary looking girls, one of them a whole lot taller than him.

He should know her name, but she's so intimidating that he never asked back at the store. Be-Be _sides_ , why would he wanna be friends with an _adult_? Nngh. Oh—Shoot, Nate'll be an adult soon, cuz he's seventeen. Does that mean he'll have to stop being friends with Nate soon?

...it does.

Sucking in a breath that involuntarily puffs out his chest, Torner forces his face into the most angry and violent and... and _cool_ expression he can muster. It turns out, unbeknownst to him, his musculature cannot handle three separate emotions in one sitting, and all he ends up looking is majorly awkward.

"Puh. Who are you, kid?" A faint spark of curiosity in The Tall One's eyes.

Torner lets out a squeak he didn't mean for her to hear and smashes his hands over his mouth. He can't look either of them in the face now. Tries his best to be as inconspicuous as possible because—um— _Mei Lan_. "I— _I_ dunno, who're _you_?" Nice. It complements his _cool_ expression.

It actually doesn't, but it's not like Torner knows that.

The Tall One smirks, slowly, sourly. "Sapphire Bling." _Oooh_ , yeah, he'd heard that last name at the dinner table before... apparently her dad was in, like, crazy debt or something. "I suggest you don't act so bratty around me; I actually completed Stryker's warden exam on my own, and I scored rather well above the pass-line if I do say so myself." She narrows her eyes and, in mimic of Torner, puffs out her own chest.

This terrifies him. He drops all attempt of emotions for sheer horror. "A-AHhhhhh! NATE SAID YOU WERE STRONG!"

"Oooooooh!" Purple-hai— _Mei Lan_ steps a hard foot on the ground. "He talks all high and mighty about Sapphy and not _me_? You're _crazy_ , I'm like... ssso strong!" she squeaks back in an unfitting high-pitched voice. She shakes her head, and Torner gets a better look at the crazy going on with her hair: two braids... coiled around... what is that, a headband? They like... stick up from the side of her head, like—like _Mickey Mouse ears_.

Her fierce altercation of expression wipes any momentary humor from the depths of his soul. "Watch this!" Pushing Torner out of her way, Mei Lan rushes up to a wall, socks her fist into it... and she screeches _really_ loudly and the cement _cracks_ and for a second there Torner's life flashes in front of his eyes and it's really sad because it's almost entirely composed of a screen playing video games back at him.

While in the midst of a deafening _grrooooooooooohh_ , the arch doesn't fall apart, and nor does the building behind it.

Well at least she didn't break the warden facility. Stryker would...  
No, wait, if only she _had_ broken the warden facility. Then Stryker would eat _her_ for breakfast instead of him.

Ah, darn it all.

Sapphire closes her eyes and grunts softly, the sound snapping Torner from his reverie. A disgusted smirk twitches on and off her face to be replaced by sheer contempt.

It suddenly occurs to Torner that maybe he should leave while Mei Lan's still busy with her slowly-bleeding knuckles and let, uh, Sapphire deal with it. And find food. Yeah, he's starving. I-If there's anything he doesn't want, it's Mei Lan in a bone buggy with him. She would probably murder the both of them, and at this point, Torner's really against the idea of death, like, that pillar could've just fallen on top of him and that would've been it and _more moving less freaking out Torner_.

Ducking into the warden center, Torner trips over and comes to a thumping halt as he catches the faint whiff of pancakes permeating somewhere nearby. Man... he hasn't had pancakes in _forever_. Since... yesterday _morning_ , before he was a warden and stuff... he usually just, like, eats all the leftovers throughout the day and the cycle repeats more often than it doesn't and... maaaan... _pancakes_...

Toward the back of the first floor—Torner taking heed to skirt far away from Leroy's sketchy door—he finds and quickly enters a large gathering room. There's a stove plugged into one of the walls and a few other appliances chilling near it: a fridge, an unplugged microwave, some depressingly bare cabinets, their lonesome doors swinging with an empty breeze.

A few tables scatter about the chamber, and they make clinking noises when someone eating bumps against it hard enough for it to teeter against the tile floor precariously. S-Stryker probably got them s-super cheap somewhere lame. They almost look nice, too... if but for the whole everything's-tilting notion.

Sprinting for the stove, Torner grabs himself a plate with little designs he hardly notices on it, something knockoff foreign. Then he scoops some pancakes up from the lidded serving platter atop the stove with his bare hands—and then he regrets it, and then he tries to swallow a scream.

There's only four other people in the room right now, but the three gently-spread-out tables—not too far as to feel sparse but not too close as to feel cluttered—weirdly comfortable for something owned by Stryker—could easily hold Penny and the others too. And Sapphire. A-And Mei Lan. Scary Mei Lan.

Two gather their plates and leave without a word, and Torner jolts when he realizes it's his brother and that crazy non- _girlfriend_ of his who looks like he picked her up at a costume shop, what with all the scales and stuff. He calls out to Hanzo, and Hanzo proffers a wave without quite turning in his direction.

"Hanzoooo! Where're you goooiinnngg!"

Torner's yell is contrasted by the uncaring quiet of his brother's response. "Home." And that's that.

Nervous Torner lets his eyes wander, only to find that the other two people are in fact Mister Warden Chief Himself and, uh, Liu Ren, who doesn't get a nickname because Torner knows next to nothing abou— _Mei Lan's Dad_. He practically coughs up a bit of pancake realizing that.

Raising his calm gaze, Stryker gestures to the lost junior warden. "Oh, Torner, I was looking for you. Come sit with us."

It's so spookily gentle that Torner considers running off right that instant, eating his pancakes off in a ditch somewhere, and never coming back. The memory of Stryker throwing him across the room does not coexist with this... this _weird, quiet_ version of the... same guy?

Swallowing and partially choking, the redhead takes as much of his time as he can without seeming too obnoxious on his way for the farthest table. Liu Ren, his dark hair tucked in a lavish braid, raises a hand in greeting as the boy situates himself awkwardly and meets nobody's eyes except his pancake's.

It's kind of freaky that Stryker is wearing this old, slightly stained apron... since that means he has a heart... since _that_ means _he_ _made the pancakes_. So Torner ignores its existence entirely.

The others were right. Liu Ren, like, fixes things with Stryker.

Gosh, that's creepy.

After taking a long draw at his creamy-colored coffee, Stryker... warmly addresses him. "We've just received intel from the warden branch in Ilum that a failed coup has occurred with a few of the younger JWs, namely Liu Ren's... rebellious son." Why is Stryker not screaming. This totally sounds like something he would scream at. "There was a... staged assault from some unnamed gang members, and it may have caused the JWs to get.. upset enough to try and take control and order the scattered administration to go after them, but the warden heads understand how _risky_ that would be and... well, Leon _doesn't_...

Small sigh. Not an angry sigh, not a sad sigh. Just a sigh. It's mildly disturbing to hear it from Stryker's lips. "I wish to go myself and seek the damage report, so that we may rebuild and create a well-developed method as to how we should proceed, but I believe my energy is best conducted here, to first reconvene with some of the returning members: the party you were with as well as Sapphire and Mei Lan's—the latter are two other talented wardens."

"Mei Lan broke a wall," Torner blurts.

Surprisingly, Stryker does not begin screaming. In fact, he doesn't even _look_ about ready to scream. A cold ball of ice settles in Torner's stomach. He's having difficulty finishing his pancakes. "Then I will have to address the damage with her momentarily. In the meantime, I ask that you go with Liu Ren to our branch in Ilum to learn more about another side of the wardens, as well as assist wherever needed to help lessen the hindrance those gang members laid to our administration."

Still not yelling. At this point Torner's out of ammo. Not that he had much in the first place, but still. He makes a glance feebly in Liu Ren's direction, but the warden head of Regis merely grins in this weird, warm demeanor not unlike Stryker's... current one.

Oh. Wait. _Wait_. "What if I don't _wan_ na do that?"

"Oho." Chortle. Stryker gently shakes his head, a little smile touching his lips. Their eyes catch, and Torner rapidly looks away, staring hotly at the space of wall in between Stryker and Liu Ren. "I believe this would be best for your current understanding of the wardens, to help you grow and improve as you are. Afterwards, perhaps we can oversee to the revival of your first vivosaur?"

Agghh... stop being _nice_ , Stryker's supposed to be _mean_... this is so uncomfortable...

Finishing his coffee, Stryker takes up his plate, Torner's mostly-finished one, and Liu Ren's on top of that, and goes off to put them wherever they go, humming to himself as he does so. Is someone gonna wash them later or is... Stryker? Oh gosh. This is not something he wants to think about. It'll probably keep him up tonight. Oh... _gosh_.

Liu Ren, calm and quiet as he was before, stands and beckons for Torner to follow. They exit the gathering area and meander back into the front room, then veer off to the side of the elevator without quite entering it. The composed warden draws to Torner's eye a... funny... uh, wormhole looking... thing. He sets a couple fobs and looks about to open up the hatch in front of it when Torner squeaks.

"W-We're jumping _into_ that? I-It'd only take a _few_ hours to, like, fly on a vivosaur or—or plane or—"

"Have you heard of the Vivosaur Management Machine?" Liu Ren pauses, poised. "Ah, of course you have not. They existed a long time ago, in a much more... basic version of these here. I assure you, they are very safe, and it squanders mere moments to reach Ilum instead of the hours it would be using any other method you mentioned."

Satisfied with his explanation, Liu Ren pops up the hatch, reminds Torner to close it when he enters, and disappears into a swirling nexus of _bad ideas_.

But, well. Stryker'll probably come back and yell at him if he doesn't. Or Mei—

He hears her high-pitched cry, perhaps outside, perhaps in his head alone, and it's all it takes to get him going through the wormhole—not that he remembers to close the hatch. He's Torner, after all, not a regular human being.

 **Stryker has A GOOD SIDE? WHAAAT?  
**

 **Also all headcanons of Mr. Bling are from Pandamoniam! He only got a mention in this chapter but most mentions are ideas from her headcanon ^^**


	8. Almost Like an Actual Warden

**Just wanted to address—Nate mentioned somewhere that Leon's real name was "Lei One" and I sort of left it at that, but the "One" of his name isn't pronounced, like "won" but "oh-nei", if that makes sense? There's just no better way to spell "oh-nei" than "one" because Mei Lan is similarly spelled and culture and blabblahblah.**

Backwoods

8: Almost Like an Actual Warden

Upon entering considerably darker corridors just outside of the literal wormhole, Torner promptly collapses onto red carpet. Scruffy, and damp, and most notably uncomfortable, Torner sits there on his butt and tries to pick apart how long ago the carpet had been scuffed by overly dramatic footfalls.

Feels like... someone went through the effort to drag out some vivosaurs and have them fight in the middle of the corridor. And continued this effort, like, once a week for the next five to ten weeks. And then Stryker caught them and yelled at them till one of their vivosaurs lost it and peed all over the—yes. Yes, that's exactly it.

Geez, what the heck happened here? Who peed on the carpet and didn't even have the decency to clean it up? Torner's thirteen, and _he—_

"Torner, ah, are you still conscious?" The gentle nudge of a toe at his side.

Sputtering, he raises himself back to his unremarkable stature and makes this awkward salute that comes out sort of wrong to Liu Ren. Little red smudges not unlike grass stains have made themselves known all along his bright orange junior warden jacket. "Ye-Yeah I am! I'm... fffine!" Grinning in that obviously fake and painful fashion, he picks up his chin and puffs out his chest to go along with it.

Liu Ren's practically clear eyes make quick work of him. "It is alright to admit fear, Torner, so long as you feel safe enough to continue. I understand that the first trip in a world gate can be, ah... rather disorienting. But it would be within our best interests to move on now."

Soon Torner learns that in order to keep up with his companion's deliberate and fast-moving strides, he has to actually jog, and it looks _really_ awkward but he has to jog anyways or risk getting lost and maybe Mei Lan would _come_ and _find_ him... and that doesn't make sense... but it does in his head. She's like the boogey man, except real, except a girl, except a horrible, ferocious monster-girl whose thunder-fists tear into buildings like pancakes.

Torner could only imagine what havoc those same fists might cause to his soft, powerless underbelly.

"Why's your daughter so scary?" he mumbles between bated breaths.

"Scary..." Quiet laughter, a musical lilt to it. Liu Ren's voice uplifts to his faint smile. "Ah, yes, I suppose it is true that a number of the newer recruits tend to look at my daughter as a... hazard, of sorts. She is surprisingly competent for her age, connects with vivosaurs well—a prodigy even among wardens. I worry sometimes what it does for her health, however, what with the prejudicial people who cast such dark stares in her direction, giving her the feeling that she must cast one back. She already speaks so infrequently to those her age.

A lull. Liu Ren's gaze skips in _Torner's_ direction next and he runs into the wall on his left it freaks him out so badly. "You appear... around her age, Torner. She is of fourteen years. Are you in that area?"

The thought of boasting over his age crushes through the fear in his tummy. "Yeah! I'm an entire _thirteen_ years ol—" and it all chokes up in him when he realizes Mei Lan is superior. Something about this is awful, tying a knot in his throat and making it harder to breathe than it already had been.

Oh but it always gets worse. Liu Ren catches his breath, the precedence of some imparted wisdom to whatever it is he'll say next."Perhaps you could... befriend her? I know we already ask so much of you, Torner, but I do believe it would benefit her to meet someone else who could see her without her, ah, albeit brutal reputation before her."

It's kind of already too late for that.  
Also Torner really doesn't want to deal with seeing Mei Lan more than he already has to. As in the once.

Lucky for him, they enter a round entrance hall, a trail of loud voices reaching out into the gloom and allowing cover for the boy, enough cover for him to abstain some semblance of a reply.

Wait it's... supposed to be morning. These shadows... Torner feels his soul caving in. "Wh-Why's it so _dark_?"

In the back of his mind, his bright little night-light taps on and blinds him with a horrible fear of the belying darkness ahead.

"Because we... Ah, you are not used to such fast-paced world traveling yet." A small nostalgic smile touches Liu Ren's lip. "It is as if we took a plane flight or any other method of transportation all the way to here, Ilum, only this transaction was completed in a matter of seconds—minutes, perhaps at the very most. Because of this, you have forgotten the time change."

"T-Time change?" It all sounds so terrible until it hits him. "Oh—Ohhh... Ilum's way far away from Regis in the, uh, in the world..." He's been here a couple times with his aunt and uncle over some scandal that had something to do with their boutique's Ilum chain, but heck if Torner remembers anything about it.

"Yes, time change," Liu Ren's voice cool and simple yet unwavering, not stifling. "It was early morning when we left Regis, but here in Ilum the time is late in the evening."

So there are no pancakes left in Ilum.

Darn.

Being out of Stryker's presence rekindled a roaring pit of appetite in his stomach. Yeah, some of it was snuffed out due to the pancakes from earlier but... but _still_... he needs more pancakes if he wants to grow tall and stuff one day...

He doesn't wanna be short forever like... like _Leroy_.  
Wait... Leroy's only eight. _Wh-Whatever_. Leroy's so _dumb_ he probably won't grow anymore anyways.

Slowly, the two—wardens?—whose voices blanketed the room notice Liu Ren and step over to them, the first much faster about it and the second more ambling, like it doesn't matter how fast he walks at any time ever. Therefore _she_ approaches first, her creamy brown hair streaming back in a hair tie. "Liu Ren! Ohhh, thank _goodness_ yer here, Sean and I've no manpower right now! _All_ three'f our junyer wardens took _off_ an' we still got that ol' hole in the wall to work with an'...

Her eyes scroll and catch Torner's. He visibly flinches. "Hey! Who're you, scamp? Newbie? Yeah, I see the Jay-Dubyew on yer shirt, no need to hide it." He drops his hands and his fingers twitch in his pockets. "Name's Becky, scamp. I'mma, ahhh, co-lead, fer Ilum. M'brother Sean"—pointing back at the guy who's still taking his sweet time ambling on over—"is the other lead, but he sucks at a lot, so."

"U-Um." Torner sucks at a lot, too, so.

Becky snatches more than shakes his hand and then leaves it hanging. Her bronzed skin is covered mostly by a mussed denim jacket and these epic-looking denim shorts all ripped up with this revered air that none of the rips were intentional. Something about the hardened stare in her gaze mirrors this.

Her brother Sean finally takes his place beside her and makes quick work at an overly-punctuated yawn. "Ssssssup!" Double thumbs-up. His almost-curly hair—same weird caramel as Becky's—flops over the majority of his forehead and one of his eyes in the process, but he keeps pushing it back like it's not intentional either. But it doesn't have the same effect as Becky's shorts.

Also his denim getup—same jacket alongside some pants—aren't all that dredged. More... gently taken care of. Where rips might hide are concealed by surprisingly skillful patchwork.

Sean doesn't suck at _everything_.

Torner feels his heart melt in his chest.

"Aaaanyways." After shoving her brother—he's at her height if not a little shorter—Becky returns to Liu Ren, since he's all capable and stuff. "We're lookin' inter how much the damage is gonna cost and whether we should fix it up or patch it now, deal it later. We've also been searching fer how to track down the motive fer the guys who screwed it up since they don't look like any organization we've seen before... Oh, and the boys're app _ar_ ently doin' that in their _rash_ way of screwin' everythin' up, but there's no way they're gonna succeed, so.

"Ah, speakin' of 'em!" In a sharp second those sharp eyes skewer Torner once more, deigning upon him like a hungry coatlus. "Sooo, all three'f our Jay-Dubyews up and left, like I said. We're kinda short on hands, kiddo... y'wanna go look for them before they hurt someone? We just know the dig site they turned off to and the bone bugger they took—all three in one of those haulers, ulhh, like they're plannin' on livin' it til they find the dumb... hhh..." Closes her eyes for a second. "It's prolly just some stupid kids playin' a prank on us..."

Sean shrugs. "Yeah, or maybe Leon did it and he's tryin' to hide it. He gets so _embarrassed_ , y'know? We really gotta out for that sensitive side of his." A moue across his lips. "Poor thing."

His sister rolls her eyes. "Gersh, _yer_ too sensitive." Gently shoves him again.

"Naaah, naaah, duderoo." And he aims some pretty classy looking finger guns in her direction before turning to Torner himself. "So uhhh... it'd be a great help if you could go find 'em for us, yeah? They're in this place called Starry Falls, just install a map on yer tracker or bone buggy or somethin' and it should go alrighty-roo."

Liu Ren's voice lies a calm sea in a midst of rowdy western accents. "Ah, Torner currently lacks a vivosaur. We were... to assist him in the mechanics of revival and vivosaur care after this situation was secure..."

"Naaah, I got this." With a flourish, Sean plucks a medal from his own pocket and tosses it to Torner, where it smacks him in the face. "Oof! Sorry, dudo. Thought you'd... uh, react. As in, uh, catch it. Or something. Ah well!"

It's in that hit that he has his moment of realization. "Wait... Wait, I'm..." Panic seeps in. "I'm gonna... um..." S- _Starry Falls_ doesn't... sound so... deadly. At least it's not... like... _Deathlandia_... r-right? Or maybe that's the _codeword_ for _Deathlandia_ that they use to keep the newbies fr-from realizing.

There's this awful moment where Torner's trying very, very hard not to go all out bawling in front of a bunch of adults that he hardly knows.  
Very hard. He whimpers as he squeezes that spot on the bridge of his nose with clammy fingers.

The moment passes, and with it comes respite. Deep breath: inhale, exhale. Torner clutches the medal that has yet to reach out to him—not that he's tried to reach out to _it—_ and he makes the weakest nod he's ever made in his entire life, and that includes all the times he didn't pay attention to his aunt and uncle's instructions, instead zoned way too far into his video games.

When there's remains a stiff waft of silence, Torner cringes and mutters, "I-I-I... Ooookay. Lemme do it." Ulh, he sounds like a... like a _kid_. Like a little twelve-year-old _baby_ who poops his pants.

But wh-whatever. There. He... said it. Nnngh, he's not a weak little kid. He's not... He's not gonna cry over something as... as easy as, uh, finding three people he doesn't know in the middle of a gigantic dig site that he also doesn't know! Ye-Yeah! And it's in the middle of the night and that _still_ doesn't... change the... um... nnnnnnn...

"Yeah, thanks, kiddo! Reaaaaaally really appreciate it, I mean it! We'd help if we could, but we got our hands full with the whole break in thing." Sean offers a smile—it's freaking dazzling—and with that, he focuses back to the others and their big adult problems at hand. Liu Ren turns to make a sympathetic glance, which Torner appreciates more than he's ever gonna say. Becky doesn't really notice, though.

But whatever. It feels low key good to get praised by the other two. Almost like self-esteem, maybe.

Maybe that's why they keep Sean around. He's like the mom nobody had: supporting you even as you do stupid things and then cleaning up your boo-boos afterward, like ah well, it's all good.

And on that note, Torner takes his time ambling out of the Ilum branch, because Sean is _right_ and all about the whole walking slower thing.

 **Sean is mom now I guess**


	9. Get Ditched

**I wrote this chapter on faulty memories since Torner has no idea how to traverse a dig site. I was gonna familiarize myself with Starry Falls before writing, but this felt more accurate.**

Backwoods

9: Get Ditched

After selecting the coolest looking bone buggy he can find in the garage and attaching some drills on it—because there was space, and the drills looked cool—Torner sets out into coarse vegetation with his sleek speed demon. It takes him all of a second to realize that there are no known penalties for not wearing seat belts; Torner, thinking himself so sly, goes without, bouncing along in his squishy seat to the rhythm of the rough terrain.

It takes all of another second for his predicament to go swooning into him. Struggling to breathe, his throat clammy and wet, Torner forcibly bites his lip. Draws blood a little. Ignores it. Tries to breathe again.

So. Start small. There is a beepy map thing on a corner of the partially-digital windshield. The beepy map thing gleefully points out the at-least-five red dots chilling out on Starry Falls's dig site, and at least three of them appear to be rouge vivosaurs. Torner suddenly wishes he took that bathroom break before he left, but oh well, too late, better hold it in like a big kid.

Being a big kid is ridiculously hard. And _stupid_. Why would _any_ one do this to themselves.

Messing around with a couple of nodules on the dashboard, Torner soon realizes that he has absolutely no idea how the heck he's supposed to drive this thing. Like, there was a downhill part, and that got him rolling, but now there is no downhill part. Never before has he taken so much as a singular glance at the innerworkings of a car, and his heart's suddenly hammering in his chest and there goes holding it in and frantically, blessedly he recalls the connection Roland made in that one bone buggy with Leroy—and he slaps some fobs and—and _there_ , the screen is blinking.

Thumbs down some names. Lots of unrecognizable ones.

Oh just his luck the first contact he recognizes is... Well. Without hesitation, Torner slaps it down and a certain pinkette's face fills a portion of the windshield.

"Ow—Owwwwww, ahhhh"—some crackling speakers—"ahahhh, didn't see that... comingg... Hhooo." Wiping away the bunched up muscles in his forehead. Bright blue eyes narrow in on Torner. "Oh, hey dude! Ssssup? Why're you callin' me on my tracker right now?"

The fact that it worked is so surprising that Torner forgets why himself. "Uhhhh... buh, hhh..." His face rapidly pales. It socks him in the stomach, and with shiver racing down his body, he starts. "I'M STUCK IN STARRY FALLS AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE AND LEON'S AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE AND MEI LAN BROKE A WALL AND I'M ALL ALONE AND I THINK I P—"

"Wait... Wai—Waaaait!" Finally, Nate's voice floods through, a rapid, welcoming hose that washes away Torner's incoherent squeaking. A worrisome _crrhccksk_ charges through it and Torner begins mildly panicking again. "Starry Falls? Lei One?" Giggling meekly, a smile darts quick to Nate's lips. "Duuuuude, Penny's gonna dig this! We should tell her and then we can _all_ go to Starry Falls and make fun of Lei One for being a _scrublord_!" His fantasy dances all over his face before he draws himself back to reality. "Oh, but we gotta help Little firsstt... hrnnnmm...

"Maybe we can convince Stryker! Yeah! He'd totally be down for that! Then we can all play Mario Kart again and stuff!" This fantasy, too, must pass before he registers the murmur of a second voice by his ear. "Ro-Roolaannd! C'mon, that'd totally work! Duuuude, Torner's like freakin' out and stuff and he's just a _kid_ and Lei One's gonna try and roast him good and we gotta _do_ something, that is _so_ noble, right? Stryker would totally buy it and then we could all hang out again!"

More murmuring. A frantic conversation Torner only intakes morsels of.

That crackling is getting louder. It's like a thunderstorm in his speed demon. Its sleek tires _crrrbbbvvvvvvvvv_ nerve-wrackingly on the turf. It may have been a bad idea to take this buggy to this dig site but, uh, little too late now.

"C'monnn! Roland, I could totally convince him! Yeah he doesn't like me but that's not the point, he likes Penny and he's mean to Penny so then the opposite is totally truu— _RHHHHHHHH—_ "

Flashing lights cut out. Lost the connection.

That's what he gets for going into the spooky forest dig site, _huh_. Or maybe a leak messed up some sort of module after wetti—

 _Any_ ways. Pale Torner lets his hair fall over his eyes as he stares vacantly forward, feet dangling toward but not quite touching the pedals below. He considers it, once, twice, his toes traipsing over the gas—or maybe it's the brake—but he loses his nerve before he gets much farther.

The short teenager slowly sinks into his seat. Warm, safe, sort of musty but that's okay.

Then he notices that one of the red dots is very close to his bone bu—

 _rrrRRRAARRRRHHHHGHGHHHHHHHHHHH!_

"Yee... eeehh..." Disoriented, he bumps his head on something and trips over the gas, and everything starts zooming forward at a speed that curdles in his stomach. "Uhh... uh, umm, nnnnh...

Then it all catches up to him. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! NO NOOOO! SS-STTOPPP! STOP MOVING STOP MOVING STOP—AAAAHH!" He floors a bump and flies out of his chair and lands precariously over one of the pedals and the bone buggy is moving very very _very_ fast right about now.

 _BURFF_ it hits a rock and _BURRFHF_ it rams a tree and _BRRHGHGHHHHHHHH_ it revs over a few bushels and maybe might've caught one on fire it's hard to tell when it's going so ffffreaking _fast_.

Vacant Torner catches the glimpse of a white hardback wedged up against the driver's seat. His small, shaky fingers dig it out of its niche after a few unsuccessful flails and his eyes devour the title: " 'H-How to Drive a Bone Buggy'! F-For beginners? I-I think it says that in the corner, umm..."

Before anything else, he forces the book into a tight, tearful embrace and stays like that for a little while. Above him, the steering wheel of his bone buggy jerks in wild, ominous motions as it bludgeons other unfortunate bits of nature that deserved better fates.

It's a fantastic question as to where his borrowed vivosaur went. He placed the medal on the seat beside him to be done with it and, making a quick, swiping glimpse at said seat again, notes that the medal has gone, uh, _some_ where, not there, that's for sure. Well.

Instead of dealing with his situation, Torner cracks open the book in his lap and begins to read. He may not be good at much, but he can read pretty fast, and he reads faster while under pressure. It sounds like a pretty cool skill to have until you realize that it's virtually useless because what is he supposed to do when he burns through all of his favorite books again and again like a race, only he can't find any sort of enjoyment in his life because then it's all over? Like, books are pretty calm and... then they're _over_ and...

Instead of dealing with _that,_ Torner just reads faster.

Oh. _Oh_. Apparently bone buggies are so versatile because they're made not only with old-age technology from things like _tabula rasas_ and _dinaurians_ but also because a lot of them are created using _broken vivosaur bones_.  
Oh that's... _great_. Oh... oh gosh...

Torner quietly finishes that page and moves on, his face somehow an even pastier shade than it already was.

A number of well-detailed images decorate most of the book: diagrams of different bone buggy skeletons, certain functions that cause certain actions to enact, a long line of all the fobs and buttons and screens and what each one does. He gets lost in that, his personal jungle. The thoughts only stick in his head so well because it doesn't take long for Torner to recognize that knowing what each fob does is going to probably save his life one of these days. That day is probably today.

Like the first or second page warned him to wear a seat belt. There's this article farther on in the manual elaborating on how bone buggies used to come with a function where the buggy wouldn't start unless each seat that had a detected weight in it had the seat belt plugged in, but then people would just plug in the seat belt _behind_ them and situate themselves in front of it, with their back wedged to the belt, so they sort of gave up.

And then at the bottom of the page: **IT'S VERY IMPORTANT TO WEAR YOUR SEAT BELT WHILE IN A BONE BUGGY, NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCE**.

But Torner feels pretty safe sitting on top of the gas pedal like he is, so he decides that the instructions just didn't calculate for if someone was in the position he's currently in, and therefore he should be fine.

After some skimmed-over pages and a few heartrending _luurrrrrrchh_ es from his speed demon—which an informed Torner now knows is used almost exclusively for races or gentle terrain because they, like, suck everywhere else and _speed is an illusion_ and all or whatever that one page said—he finally lifts into the front seat again.

For one beautiful, wonderful, glorious second, all speed halts and Torner catches a great view of his surroundings: the trail opening up and forking to the right and left, trees shimmering about him, shining vivosaurs soaring in the sky...

oh and that horrendous gap in the ground. Right in front of him.

The one his bone buggy is tipping int— _oh, no_.

He closes his eyes and hopes for the best and he hears it, oh, he hears it, tires scraping fruitlessly at turf soon trod on and passed by and the _wrhrurffff_ of scraping thin air and thin air alone, an endless spire of darkness descending so far below he doesn't even try to point it out but instead covers his head with his hands. It completely bypasses him to put on his seat belt, and by then it's too late:

 _RRRRRRuuURURRHHGHGHHHCHCCBBBHHHhhhhhhh_

Torner donks himself good in the head, his body bunching up and slamming into the roof of his vehicle before slamming back down. He's out for a dead-cold instant. Slowly shakes himself off. In a semi-conscious haze, he thumbs over fobs and notices on that little map there's a... a ghostly white _ping_ up in front of... in front of him... and it's sort of hard to focus, feeling all that blood trickle down his skull... but he tries his best and, and he thinks that is a very very _very_ large vivosaur fossil... like _all_ the vivosaur fossil... with the... with the head and... the legs and... the kidneys and...

Recalling the modules. Fingers twitch over a pair of levers and lower the drills, two monstrous-looking shears of pure metal that grate into the rock before him and set him juttering in place.

Inhale. Exhale. In through his nose... out through his mouth. Unnnh, someone once said that to him... he wishes he could thank them... probably hadn't...

Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's because he's terrified he accidentally lost Sean's vivosaur and Sean's gonna turn all _Stryker_ on him and he needs a replacement. If Torner knew, it was back before he messed up his head.

Either way, between the beats of a headache coming down hard and the tingling sense overtaking his limbs, he steers his drills and sets them going, faster, faster, clearing out the fossil, breaking more than uncovering but there's such a wall of bone that his hopes are understandable.

It all oozes out of him so quickly and he rests his cold head on the bone buggy's dashboard. It's probably a mess with, with his _blood_... and his _organs_...

Mechanical rhythm alerts him, but it doesn't quite get him up. Red... nnh, why's there always _red_ , huh... dumb red... such an ugly color—yeah... _yeah_ , why'd his _hair_ have to be red... why not _white_ , like Trixia, like Sasuke... like, uh... uhhnn... _pink_. Pink's red, but, like... better. Yeah...

He snatches fragments of a metallic voice recording his progress, seeming to weigh options: **Driver steadily losing consciousness**. Oh hey... that one's him... oh, cool... **Full-body fossil a failed excavation**. Aw— _turd_ , come on... **Driver _steadily losing consciousness_**. Intake. **Fossil's tailbone fully excavated. Fossil's talons near-fully excavated...** and it continues like that for a little while.

This weird... whirring, humming noise thing... and then a _ker-chuk_ that scares the living daylights out of him and well if he was still holding it he wouldn't be anym— _uh_.

And then a presence. A light, flagrant humming picks up and he... like, he feels it inside of him... and that's _weird..._ and then his head isn't aching so bad. Which is also weird. But like... like... not that weird... and then there's this weird sort of voice that's like but isn't like... a conscience... like it's... gruff and funny an—

 **Lythro revival complete**.

Oh dang now _that_ gets him up. Also the fact that he's noticeably less, uh, dying and stuff. Um. Uh.

Torner quietly and rapidly zips a seat belt shut over him.

Then he looks up. And _then_ he catches the amber eye of this nightmare-looking _thing_ that for a second he swears came out of his head back when it was bleeding all... all over.

Oh that's funny. Why's it got a head wound... too?

 _You don't have a head wound. Now I have the head wound._ Torner practically wets himself aga—. _I took your pain and placed it onto myself. It is a trivial skill, a notable link between vivosaurs such as me and humans such as yourself._ The cock of its massive head. _You did not know? But I detect a second vivosaur in your box thing_.

 _Bone buggy_ , Torner mumbles. He coughs, his face heating. _You're like in my mind. That... That's rude!_

Another cock of the head. Is that amusement in his... his gruesome features? _Not as rude as the assumption of my gender._

Oh uh. _S-So you're a girl? Oops..._

 _Yes I am a girl._ A calm shrug-like attempt by the massive creature. _It is alright. I believe most lythros are presumed males because of their, ah... striking appearance._ Quiet introspection. _I knew a krona once who felt similarly about her own species._

Torner doesn't even know what in the turd a krona is, so he ignores that comment. _G-Good for you. I, uh... D-Do I call you Lythro?_

 _Psh, please, no._ Gentle shake of hi— _her_ head. _You can give me a name if you'd like. Most vivosaurs care little of it. I am one of them... the krona was not._

 _S-Stop talking about the krona._ Torner pouts at the lythro before deciding that maybe he shouldn't rile this creepy red-and-white... stripped... massacre of a... vivosaur. The calm amber—so carefully hinted in green—of her gaze really doesn't match with all her crimson, um, markings. Her eyes... look... pretty?

Another quiet shrug. _Alright. But I would like a name before we move on._ Soft attempt at a laugh—something else very spooky coming out of that maw, those _blood_ red teeth, those... _ulh_.

 _I was gonna say Lysandre before I knew you were a girl cuz—cuz that's the name of this bad guy in this video game I played a long time ago and that sounds like lythro and I thought it'd be cool... but... but Lysandre's a dude and you're not a dude and—_

 _I don't believe in giving names a gender. Lysandre sounds alright to me, and so I shall wear it proudly._ Well. That was surprisingly easy.

Another silence. Lysandre—in her oddly calm tone—murmurs, _Could you open a hatch or... some other module in your vehicle so that I may come in and rest? While it is a trivial pain on me, unlike the monster it was for you, my head still does ache, and I would like to close my eyes for a little while. Revival is... dizzying._ She pauses, considering something—probably bringing up that stupid krona a freaking third time—but she deems her comment frivolous and waits.

Thanks to his reading, Torner actually knows how to disable the windshield and let his creepy but also sort of cool but also _very creepy_ lythro take a peek on in. She shifts on her haunches, her bipedal body considering, and then like that she condenses into a freakishly smaller form of herself and plops off into the passenger seat. _Could you put the strap thing on for me? Safety is of utmost importance._

Torner, feeling like the fool he is, turns the windshield back on and reaches over to awkwardly click Lysandre's seat belt in place.

 _It smells rather odd in here._

Um. Torner coughs. _Well I did just bleed out and stuff._

 _No, no..._ Lysandre squints, as if that helps her sniff harder. _Something... els—_

 _I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT BUT WE'RE UM WASTING TIME Y'SEE CUZ—_

Lysandre smoothly cuts him off with her soothing, cold tone. _Yes, yes. I saw that floating around in your head. We must find the one your pink-haired friend called 'Lei One' and retrieve him from whatever ditch he's gotten himself in, then report to... Ilum, is it called?_ Pause. _Ah! And this is a bone buggy we sit in, and this strap thing is called a seat belt! Oh, clever humans..._ Then she nods off, all humming and stuff, in this weirdly soft, subtle tone of warmth.

Just t-t-to get her _back_ , Torner considers leafing through her _own_ mind through that weird link thing he sort of but doesn't quite get the feel of, but then he'll probably learn a whole lot more than he'd like to about that _krona,_ and Lysandre creeps him out enough as it is... He just decides against the whole ordeal.

But then he does peek at it, just... just _once_ , to try and see if she'd recognize anything about Lei One or maybe he passed by her or something, but that's quickly becoming a dead end, so otherwise Torner leaves her alone.

Lysandre is _weird_. Torner always thought Hanzo looked super cool with his awesome vivosaurs and all their skills and things, but no... they're just weird.  
Slowly but surely, all of his assumptions about the wardens and everything else he thought he knew is coming apart, and he doesn't like it.  
Well except for Mario. But he can trust Mario, Mario's actually cool.

As their speed demon—which recovered from the fall only because of its structure, which Torner now knows a little too well—trundles up, Torner switches on the headlights and faintly observes his surroundings. The cave would be cooler if he hadn't lost his appetite for adventure, but that's what happens when you don't wear your seat belt. If he had a little more positivity in his bloodstream, he could look at this whole mess like, hey, he got his vivosaur out of all this, but Torner is a teenaged brat, and he is not going to look at anything in a good light except for... okay _maybe_ Nate.

Maybe. P-Probably _not_ , though, it's not like Nate's _cool_ or anything, no-no-not at _all_.  
Plus, he'll be an a _dult_ soon. Even though Liu Ren's also an adult but he's actually cool, because that's, that's not...

It's not like Torner's looking forward to playing Mario Kart with him again later. E-Especially now that he knows _Nate's_ looking forward to it.

Nuh- _uh_.

 _Why are you so insistent upon idiotic fantastic that don't even match your own feelings?_

Oh. Gosh. Lysandre's gonna be the death of him. You _have insistent feelings!_ Ugh, this is gonna be a lot harder than he thought.

After moving around uncertainly, Torner sends his bone buggy backwards and carefully steers onto a ramp scaling the side of the cave. As the speed demon slips over gravel—much less smooth than the stone at the bottom of the cave—the steering wheel begins to make awkward jerks in directions that either slam itself into the side of the rock face or nearly spiral off the edge. He actually does fall once and has to steer the dumb speed demon all the way back up to where he was again.

Passing a suspicious efface sends his map into a tizzy; Torner nervously clicks on the little blip and reads, in shaky words, "'Orinoco Pa-Path'... Geez, that sounds like s-somethin' outta Luigi's Mansion!" And Luigi's Mansion _sucks_ , it's terrifying and he had nightmares for like a week after playing it _once_. Starry Falls is beginning to remind him of Luigi's Mansion now, and he wishes he could stuff that thought back into his head and never look at it again.

Sometimes Torner really hates himself. Like, like _right now_.

Maybe Nate wouldn't like Luigi so much if _he_ played Luigi's Mansion...  
Arggh the image of a spooked Nate yelling off his favorite character while in close-to-tears is almost helpful but at the same time backfiring on him...

 _You haven't seen Lei One and his clunky bone buggy yet, have you?_ Lysandre suddenly voices. Torner freezes up and bites at his lip.

Quietly, _No... Bu-But I wasn't paying attention for a lot of it so it's possible, I just..._

 _Well, from what you know of Lei One so far, I'd have to say that if he saw you splintering at high speeds in Starry Falls. he would've contacted you. From what Nate's reported of him, he sounds like the kind of guy who'd make fun of your shortcomings just to feel a little better about his own._

Something about that is both heartwarming and painful to hear. _Ha...Haaahh... ye-yeah, probably... Wai-Wait are you saying tha—_

 _Yes, it's likely Lei One is stuck in his own pathetic situation and needs assistance to get out of it. As I have been a part of this dig site for so long, I can safely assure you that Orinoco Path is by far the easiest place to meet failure for a pathetically long increment of time: teeming in darkness and twisty turns and however many rogue vivosaurs have gotten lost, who then went berserk after being swallowed up by the harrowing nexus..._

All the more reason for Torner _not_ to go in there! Lysander is _right_! This place _sucks_ and _why_ should he go in!

 _We should go back!_ he cries, giddy, happy, thinking oh he's figured it out so now he can go home and eat pancakes and get someone else to call out Lei O—

 _You really should go in there and flush him out. If it's not you getting stuck, it'll be someone else._ Freaking... Lysan— _Oh dear. I just mentioned how I've been a part of this dig site for so long. It appears I have the layout of Orinoco Path memorized._

He doesn't know whether to chuck her out of his bone buggy or hug her. How about neither. _Ohh. Um._ She's so...

 _You're welcome._ Unnnhh.

Reluctant, Torner revs his speed demon into place at the front of the trail. Gently scooting in, mere seconds after spilling through the entrance, his surroundings go awful dark but for his headlights, and those are swallowed into the remaining blackness not, like, three feet in front of him or s-s-something. He thinks. Actually it's longer than three feet but Torner's freaking out and _it's only three feet okay_.

Lysandre's guidance inches their bone buggy forward and a very quick sweep left, narrowly dodging the plated face of a vivosaur Torner rapidly forgets about as they move on. The speed of this stubborn vehicle has them go around in a circle—passing by the entrance—before being deposited out into the next cavern accordingly. Torner swallows and tries to guess at which pathway goes next. He chooses right out of desperation: right is _right_ , right?

Some more trundling. Too dark to see. Tires squelch in and out of little holes and rev the speed demon up more than it should be revved, uh, probably. Some pathetic turning up a steep ramp—Lysandre urges Torner not to turn an inch left—but then the steering wheel yanks around and Torner accidentally steers left and they land, _PURP_ , in a swamp sort of bowl of water below.

Oh hey a bone buggy. Its headlights have been punched out by something. That's not fun. Torner's are still, albeit hardly, visible beneath a layer of filmy brown water.

In moments there's a request popping up on his screen for connection with **Hauler in Starry Falls on Latitude** some amount of numbers **and Longitude** some other numbers. It's probably Lei One, here to make fun of his shortcomings, so Lei One can feel better about his own. _Clik_.

A pale, angular face with a noticeably pronounced jawline appears on Torner's screen. Cynical dark eyes too muddled to be any one color narrow at what must look like a _stupid kid_ to him, and some really almost impressive looking purple hair falls over his face. He has like _five_ piercings and somehow Torner finds this really intimidating. The guy whistles coldly. "Hmmmm, a fishy. No wonder you screwed up that jump, _idiot_." A slight show of delight warms his lips to some degree. But not by very much. And not for very long.

A second boy slams the first out of the way; this one's tan with crazy jagged black hair going every which way on his head. "HEEEYYYY! DUUUDE, YOU SAVED US! VWEEEEWWWWW!" And then he fist-bumps himself and jumps around recklessly and lands on top of the guy with the purple hair... and there's a lot of yelling going on back there.

A third boy—pale, nervous, his peachy-colored hair trembling down to his chin—takes one look at Torner and relaxes visibly. "Ah, it is only a junior warden! Ohhhh, thank goodness, I-I was terrified Becky would be here to yell at us! O-Or... even _Stryker_..." Fear edges back into his bleak gaze.

Too many teenage boys—waaaay older than Torner—like _three_ or so _years_ older—for him to keep much track of them.

Except for the first. Since his hair is purple and all.  
Like Mei Lan's.

He makes an attempt at confrontation: "Le-Lei"—stumble—"One?"

Purple hair sees a surge in strength as he picks himself back up and whispers in a very very low tone at the screen, "Do _not_ call me that pathetic name."

It's so scary that Torner would wet himself if—

Well anyways.

 **Sorry this is a bit of a cliffhanger. This chapter's getting long, but this was the best place to stop, so I stopped here.**

 **So, Lysandre! I knew Torner was getting that lythro in this chapter and I knew I didn't want her to be the sort of thing you'd "expect" from a lythro, so that's how she came into being. I didn't really know what to call her except the name of some video game character Torner would know... so now she's Lysandre xD hey she's not... Cyrus xD or MAXIE xD she couldn't be Maxie, she doesn't have his trademark voice pffff (I pronounce her name "lie-sand-her" by the way)**

 **maybe I should've named her Lusamine since that also sounds like lythro and it's the name of the only female bad guy boss in pokemon but it's too late, Lysandre it is  
besides who needs to give names genders... xD**


	10. One Way to Screw Oneself Over

Backwoods

10: One Way to Screw Oneself Over

Things get awkward real fast.

Torner's feet straddle the pedals below. Some prods lurch his buggy forward or backward or cause some rather disconcerting noises to exhume from somewhere inside the belly of the black demon. Whether the cause is water, blocked up vivosaur, uh, waste, uh, or maybe that one vivosaur Sean let Torner borrow is impossible to tell: all the little warden knows is he's not keen on finding out anytime soon.

The silence goes on for some time.

Outside of a few slams and nudges and obscene choices of wording over there in Leon's bulky buggy, not much of note occurs. Lysandre coughs once or twice, nudging her fighter, but he's unresponsive enough for her to drop any hope of his doing much other than stare uselessly.

It's a very awkward time for so long that nobody finds the courage to acknowledge it.

Finally, pushing stubborn Leon aside, that punk-rock-looking kid who probably, like, had a guitar for a parent makes a move. "Ssssso you wanna save us or what, dudo? We're stuck in sludge, our buggy's broke, and you obviously are the cavalry and all since Becky sent you."

"F-Frett," mutters the peachy one, elbowing his friend, "don't be crass."

"I'm being honest, Prescoootttt, not craaassssss!"

Leon, with a snort, rolls his eyes in the most melodramatic way he can possibly manage. It's not as impressive as he thinks it is. In fact, it's not impressive at all. "You're all a bunch of crass _losers_. And you don't get it!" He leers at Torner in a way that is petrifying to the thirteen year old and pretty weak to the lythro resting beside him, who snorts. "If we let _him_ take us back, then we're giving up!"

"I-I think we gave up a long time ag—"

In a prompt display that reveals to Torner his opinion on friendship, Leon's clunky boot thuds on top of what must be Prescott's foot. The peachy-haired boy's face breaks into a silent mask of agony. Beside him, Frett tries to, like, lean against him, or something.

Another round of very quiet awkwardness.

Prescott takes a moment to turn and fidget at the awkwardly obvious tears scrolling down his cheeks.

It takes a debatable nanosecond for Frett to shove the purple-haired punk aside. "Dude. Like... come on..."

After bonking his head on some bone buggy fob or another, Leon winces as he clenches his long, pale nose with a fist. A small glob of blood spurts around the bottom of it. " _Dude_! Like—Come _on_! It's not _my_ fault he forgot his shoes. That's _his_ problem."

Amongst all of this testosterone, Torner figures out that the fob thingy Leon hit totally just expanded the screen of his buggy. Sounds trivial, but now he gets a pretty solid picture of pale Prescott's foot, and that foot is not in a good place right now.

Prescott's head tilts toward the ground.

His companion twitches irritably. " _Duuude_. You, like, practically rushed us out of there. Kept looking back, too..." musing softly, "like you were scared Becky was gonna be on you in a hot seco—"

Leon attempts to step on Frett's foot as well, but Frett's feet are addressed in some hefty, clunky sort of material that doesn't make a lot of sense on its own but serves a special purpose when on him.

That purpose is to set Leon's temper aflame.

"YEAH, WELL HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET ANYTHING DONE WITH YOU TWO IDIOTS MUCKING ABOUT AND FLIRTING WITH EACH OTHER'S PERSONAL SPACES RATHER THAN—THAN HELP ME CATCH THE JERKS WHO BROKE IN!"

Puckering his lips, Frett shrugs. "I don't flirt with someone else's personal space, now that's just wei—"

"AND _YOU_! YOU _IN_ SOLENT—" Here Leon takes a shot at stepping on Prescott's other foot, but his plight is left short when the olive-skinned rocker casually picks his demure friend up and carries him like it's nothing.

Then Leon trips and falls flat on his face in the middle of the bone buggy. His hand flops off his nose and a dribble of blood spatters over the metal floor.

 _Ah. Lei One's momentum carried him further than his common sense,_ titters Lysandre. Not that Torner's paying her any attention, what with his mouth agape and face a shade of pale even Leon's furious usage of foundation can't quite master.

More quiet. Leon, cheeks blustering in blotchy pink where the foundation isn't strong enough, slumps himself and folds his arms over his chest like the moodiest teenager there ever was. Frett continues to hold Prescott, and whether it's because danger is still imminent or he just wants to is hard to say. The latter tightens his pale fingers around his friend and dang, maybe _they're_ betrothed _too_.

Gosh _dang_ it, who the heck _isn't_ betrothed in this _crazy_ place!

Finally, after some mindless fiddling with the fobs on his speed demon, Torner activates the Big Screen Thing as well and now all the guys in the other bone buggy can stare at his lythro. He's not really sure why he wanted to also use the fob—it's possible Leon intimidated him enough to make him imitate the moody _scrublord—_ as Nate called him—but either way there it is.

Someone coughs. Frett takes initiative and tips his head beside Prescott, and Torner gets this really hard feeling in his chest and decides that looking away is a wonderful idea and _everything_ is so _awkward_ now and _why_ is _everyone..._ betrothed to each other...

 _So... about this._ Moments like these make Torner weirdly grateful for his red-and-white-striped monster. _Can we get this moving on now? Torner's supposed to take you home with him, and your bone buggy is obviously wrecked, so how about you all come in here with him and we figure everything out after?_

Leon's quick to grasp a chance at insulting someone other than himself. Wiping away a stray speck of blood from his lip, he grunts and mutters, "A speed demon is only equipped to carry two seats. There are four of us."

"Yeah, but"—Frett happily intercedes—"Prescott and I are pretty much a package, so if we sit together and _you_ sit toge—"

" _No_ , that is the most _humili—_ "

"Yeaaaaaaah, bu—"

"No no _no no no nO NO NO NO_!" Nah. Leon's not a moody teenager anymore: he's five years old, at the climax of the biggest temper tantrum of his entire life.

And who else voices this but Lysandre? _Lei One. If you ever want to amount to anything in any form close to the majesty your younger sister has approached far earlier than you ever will, I suggest you shut up._

Ouch. _That was... pretty harsh_ , Torner mumbles in his lame drawl. But he did sort of... have it... coming... so like...

Maybe it's the shock of having a lythro address him so sharply, or maybe it's the shock of having a lythro address him at all, or maybe it's the fact that she called him by his real name, but whatever the shock of Leon's fate is, he goes dead silent, deathly red.

Curling his legs up against Frett's chest, Prescott makes his own little statement. "Ye-Yes, I do think it wise of us to enter your speed demon and... go back home." Warm, gentle eyes roam about his surroundings, not quite reaching the gaze of any of the others.

"Alrighty!" The rocker boy makes a show of tilting Prescott to the ground before halting himself, considering his actions, and resetting his position. "Wait wait. I'll put you in the demon, _then_ we can hook our trash heap up to that thing... yeah, yeah." An accusatory glance in Leon's general direction, and Frett kicks open one of the hauler's massive doors.

He's quick to step through the sludge, quick to prop out the demon's passenger side, quick to place Prescott there. Weirdly soft, weirdly quiet as he does all of these things.

When the door opens, Lysandre scoots over and decides to sit on the dashboard. There, she curls up and enters a nice, long nap.

Torner's jealous.

Once the door is safely shut, he's back to his explosive self. "HEEEY LEI OOOONEEEEEEE! COME HELP ME HOOK THIS THING UP OR I'LL TELL YOUR SISTER YOU'RE A SCRUB!"

"I'm... urhhh, I'm not a _scrub_." Leon's brows knit as he whispers it, his pale fingers clenched about himself, but either way he kicks open a second door of the hauler with a flair of spite and almost falls a second time. Catches himself last second.

The boys take their time pulling a cord out of their buggy, instructing Torner to turn his thing around, trying to hook their buggies together in a way that keeps the cord from coming loose, because that's all it seems to be good at. While he bides his time, Prescott adjusts himself in the seat, his soft brown—closer to orange—hair falling in lithe curls about his flushed face. He's... small, kinda like Torner, but more pronounced in that way people get after they hit puberty. Comfortable with himself.

Y'know. The way Torner _isn't_.

His soft toffee gaze scrolling, Prescott eventually catches Torner's eye and makes an attempt at conversation. "So... you're new here? Like a... new warden, and all?"

"U-Um, yeah..." He takes a moment to jerk the buggy backwards, as per Frett's raucous request. "I'm a... junior warden... I-I guess." Gosh. Not something to be proud of, huh. "Like you guys? Becky said all the junior wardens ran away."

"W-We didn't run away!" Prescott's expression warms when he blushes, adding an endearing touch on him where it might fluster others. Kinda cute. "We thought... we'd find the perpetrators! B-But our plan fell through. And none of the big wardens thought it was a good idea... a-and I... guess they were right." He doesn't sound sad to admit his failure, though. Pff... The exact opposite of Leon.

Torner doesn't have much to say, and Prescott obviously doesn't either, so they sit in a comfortable silence. The bone buggy shifts every few times, little ominous _surrrr_ sounds rumbling out of it whenever it revs in the mucky water.

Then he just has to blurt something out: "So are you and Frett betrothed too."

"A-Ahh..." Another blush from the demure boy. "Heh... You speak so boldly. I am... not so bold. It's... admiring." Shakes his head. The compliment sort of goes over his red-haired companion's head. "What is your name?" Oh uh.

"Torner." Meh. "But seriously, a-are you?"

The gentle cloak of quiet once more. Well, until Frett stubs his toe on something. Then quiet again for a little longer. "That would... be nice... one day. But that is not how we stand as of now." Prescott lowers his sweet gaze and murmurs it again, like something he wants to cherish. "That would be nice. One day." Happy sigh.

Alright. Okay. Just Penny and Nate, then. For some reason, Torner is relieved to hear this.  
Though it might not be for long.

Torner quietly gags.

It doesn't take all that much longer for the others to be satisfied enough with their work; both of the speed demon's hatches spill outward and in come a couple of very wet teenaged boys. At least the stench of dirt and muck masks the acrid smell of— _um—_ something _else_.

"Aaah maaannn..." Frett, plopping himself happily beside his boyfriend, pops off his shoes and starts rolling up the soaked ends of his intensely ripped up jeans. But these are all intentional rips; it's just something you can tell. Wrapping an arm around Prescott and therefore soaking the latter's back, the rocker gets himself comfy.

A whole new grimace enters the planes of Leon's face as he awkwardly places himself to Torner's left, the kid making sure to leave him as much room as humanly possible. With all the people jumbled up inside, Lysandre has already finished up her nap and tucked herself into a spot beside the gas pedal, reassuring her fighter that she can help out with pressing buttons: whether or not it'll be useful they are soon to find out. It's sort of creepy catching her still, amber-green gaze pierce him from her shadowy corner.

Torner still has no idea where Sean's vivosaur is. They're just gonna ignore that part.

Enough time passes that Torner has convinced himself Leon won't, like, force the task of driving upon himself. So the brand new junior warden sucks in a breath and decides to get it over with or whatever. It's not so bad the second time, especially with his vivosaur murmuring little encouraging morsels here and there—also the weight of the heavy hauler evens out some of the demon's toxic speed, and that is a wonderful plus.

A strange silence descends upon the group as they trundle their way back. Thundering vivosaur steps cascade in waves on most directions, the echoing walls of tunnels forcing sounds to funnel and making it near impossible to tell which beasts are nearby and which aren't even a problem.

Whenever he does happen upon one, Torner squeezes his eyes shut and he and Lysandre both step on the gas, and that is probably very stupid and terrible, but at this point he's lost sight of any real reason to care.

They make it out of Orinoco Path alright. A few wrong turns here and there, but everyone is just so done that their lack of motivation is so little it causes them to have the willpower to get out of the stupid trail. Also Lysandre. Mostly Lysandre.

Exiting the cave, Torner manages to keep the buggies straight enough to get up and out of that bigger cavern without anything falling off the edge this time. Catching the glimpse of foliage up above and revving onto peaty soil once more arises such a strong feeling in his heart that he takes a solid few seconds to slam his own head against the dashboard.

Nobody questions it, which is nice.

The telltale glint of a peeking sunrise flits amongst the starlit sky, causing Torner's stomach to clench. He doesn't know how many hours it's been and he really... doesn't wanna know, either. But the sight is mesmerizing, dark immersing the light until shining fronds alight strong enough to overtake the shadows in little pockets. And it's so mesmerizing that Torner doesn't even watch the road, just the sky.

He runs into many things via this driving style, but nobody questions this either, which is also nice.

It's not even accusation that breaks him out of his spell, but... remorse. Quietly. Soft enough that only the person sitting directly beside him hears: not Frett, not Prescott, not Lysandre—well, unless she reads her fighter's thoughts. "Kid, I... I hate being pathetic." Intake. "I hate being told I'm worse than her at everything—heck, I... I hate _being_ worse than her at... every little _thing_. Better fighter, better strategist, better driver, better... just _better_. I can't even make friends better than her, and she's... herself."

Torner makes a quick stare at Leon's lip, but nope, it's moving. It's the one speaking. _Uhhh_. Oh gosh... um... that's a weird feeling in his chest...

He lets out a breath. "Mhhhhh... Maybe you're just, uh... good at sewing. Like Sean." Y-Yeah. _Yeah_.

To his surprise—knocking his pulse up higher than it should probably go—a harsh laugh barks out of Leon's tight mouth. Looks almost as surprised as Torner, but the emotion rubs off once the shocked thirteen year old rams their buggy straight into a tree. "Y'know... that almost made me feel better." Exhale. "I'll be honest."

"But you just _were_ honest." Torner doesn't know.

A strange blink from his moody, uh... friend? Maybe not so moody right now. Torner doesn't like thinking about it. "Huh... Yeah, I guess I was." Leon takes a moment to reflect upon his actions. "Weird. Maybe you're just easy to talk to, since you're a whiny kid." Oh. Um.

Now this, Torner takes as a compliment. And how does one repay such words? Ummmm. "Maybe you're just... good at video games." Alrighty. So far so good. "I have an NS. You should play Mario Kart. With, uh. With me." Yeah. Oh, oh... or maybe ARMs, since that one just came out and all. Plus the Snaker dude is really cool and Nate will stop complaining about whether or not someone else is playing Luigi.

"Pfffff..." Leon's sharp, dark eyes roll to the ceiling. It's not until he makes a slight nod that Torner realizes, with a jolt, that he was actually considering it. "At this point, why not."

His thick, lilac hair droops down to his shoulders, the pins he kept to secure so much of it up now missing. It falls in a tangled frame, softening his angular cheeks and cutting gaze and crooked nose. A slight half grin curls one end of his face.

He manages both hope and hopelessness in the same begotten gaze.

It's a much shorter ride to the entrance of Starry Falls than it was when Torner arrived. That's because he actually is watching the road this time... at least, more than he was before. Uh. Probably it's Lysandre, though.

The entire bone buggy is contaminated by the stench of sweaty and muddy and just all around disgusting teenage boys, and that's alright. They'll figure it out later. They'll also figure out what to do with the busted up hauler later. And maybe Becky won't yell at them like Stryker does—or maybe they won't yell at Torner since all Torner did was go and retrieve the guys, not... bust them up in the first place.

Wait. "Uhhh, how did you guys get lost anyways?"

Leon grunts. "Oh, uh. We were chasing the jerks who vandalized headquarters... like, we actually found them and everything... and then they ducked into Orinoco... so we followed... and they beat us up... and we got lost... and, well." He oddly doesn't seem to mind relaying all of these events to Torner, but his attitude suggests that Torner doesn't ask him anything else anytime soon.

Just as Torner scrolls their buggy out of Starry Falls, something lands with a _thurk_ on the roof.

A couple spines protrude into the metal.

 _It's Sean's vivosaur._

He's so done that he starts driving with it on top and everything until this really ugly sound starts reverberating from the engine like it had, what, twelve or something times before since the start of this _stu_ pid dig site, and all of a sudden a halo of light explodes into the sky.

Everyone pretty much stares at it and lets the fire burn their eyes. Frett makes some throwaway comment about how cool it is.

A few alarming _SSCURRHHH_ es and soon after, the weight comes unhinged from the roof. A big-beaked monstrosity hefting enormous wings far larger than both bone buggies combined and these burning eyes not unlike that of the sun catch Torner's eye first... and by then he's not sure if he wants to see anymore.

With a cough, the coatlus speaks. _I figure you've had it covered up until now._

Oh that's where he we—wait wait wait _had_ it _covered_. _Had it covered_.

Instead of responding, Torner sinks to the lowest part of his chair, curls into a ball, grabs the instruction manual from the ground, and shoves his face into a random page.

It's a lot easier than any of the other actions he could've taken.

 **This is what Sean's vivosaurs are all like basically**

 **oh I figured you had it covered**

 **Yes he was inside of the engine for pretty much all of this chapter and the last one too—while Torner's buggy has been making some very spooky noises, he obviously drives it without difficulty**

 **he was those noises**

 **yeah uh**

 **I love this story**


	11. Things Are Momentarily Less Scary

Backwoods

11: Things Are Momentarily Less Scary

Pulling into the garage is a nightmare. They've got a solid two buggies, both in terrible condition no matter the way you look at it—one of them can't even move on its own, the other smells terrible and looks worse—and it doesn't even take half a second for Becky to get onto this.

Torner tries not to think about why she was waiting for them and, if she was waiting for them, then that means she got, like, no sleep at all. But that being said, Torner and the others _also_ got no sleep, so. They just all got no sleep together. Uh, great.

Actually _not_ great, cuz Becky's lost all sense of the word calm in her expression. A foot tapping on the hard, concrete floor, her lips smeared into a snarl, she takes her time sidling nearer, each enclosing _tap_ like a fast-encroaching death sentence. For the first time since he's had her, Lysandre shrinks into her funny disc form and flops into Torner's pocket. That's how he knows absolute turd is about to be thrown straight in his face.

At the last second he recalls the existence of Sean's crazy coatlus and snatches that up too, shoves it into his pocket with Lysandre like he totally knew where the thing was the entire time. Wait but if he _knew_ then there's no excusable reason for Torner to go out of his way to dig up Lysandre, who healed his head injury, because the _coatlus_ could've healed it and... and, uh... uh... maybe it was a _really_ bad head injury. Becky would buy it, right?

Of course not, but Torner doesn't remind himself of how helpless he is, not now.

One quick glimpse of the general direction of the hauler, and Becky apparently determines that nobody's in there. Torner deliberates against against stalling for time and telling Becky _oh, no_ , someone's sleeping on the floor in there, but then she'd just... _bite_ his head off later. Torner kind of likes having his head attached to his neck—oh, but if he didn't, he'd be all cool like _Rayman_ and—and that's _not_ helping.

Blessed finally, the tall brunette sidles up to the side of the speed demon and clicks her nails against the glass of the window. Torner reluctantly rolls it down—it takes a few seconds of frantic fiddling and he practically loses his mind during the depths of agony-swamped silence.

Once the deed is done, Becky purses her thin lips tightly together. Her nose sort of twitches and a sudden flush of heat crowds upon Torner's face as he remembers one of the key determining factors as to why the buggy smells so ba— _uhhmmm_. "What in _tarrr_ nation did y'all do tuh yerselves? My _gawsh_ , y'all." After a moment of morbid contemplation, her eyes a worrying shade of putrid, Becky's lips curve into an ugly grin. "Well. Leon, y'all are cleanin' this up before ya get a chance of sleepin', obviously."

" _Becks_." Oh. Geez. Torner practically jumps out of his chair at the amount of edge that just poured out of Leon's mouth. He glances over to the purple-haired punk and notices the hardened chill that has somehow gotten itself into his face in the like two seconds it took to register Becky's voice. "We deserve a chance to eat and sleep first." Screws up his lip like it's his honor he's staking, and if he hadn't already lost it all last night, he probably would be.

Throwing her head back, Becky lets fly a razor-sharp chuckle. "Oh, _Lei One_ " _—_ his eyes narrow at his real name—"Ya think one thing but deserve a whole 'nother, uh?" Titters, giggling in this way that crawls up Torner's spine. "I _think_ after all the _turd_ y'all put us through, the _least_ ya nasties could do is scrub these fleabags down first. Consider it a... hmmmmmm..." She stares off into the darkness of the garage, a melodramatic coat of cruelty shading her snide expression. "A _gift_ to us fer _appeasin'_ yer rapscallion behavyur. _Ulh_.

As she turns, she goes, "Ah 'spect y'all to start be _fore_ Sean gets 'ere. Mah job's watchin' for ya, his'll be ta make sure y'all get yer stinky biz all taken care of." Finally she turns, and Torner tries to swallow his heart down his throat. Becky's boots make ominously loud booms as she walks off—before pausing, turning back, and adding, "Oh, but Torner can come back. He did what we asked of 'im. Unlike _y'all_." And then she leaves like she didn't just turn all three of Torner's companions onto him.

His heart relodges.

Actually, she didn't just screw the kid-warden over, but that's not what it _feels_ like. Whether or not three pairs of cruel eyes just fell onto his back, Torner curls into a little ball and mutters, "I can clean, I can clean..." in this pathetically small tone.

"Pfffffff." He jolts back up at Frett's laughter. "Boyo, you're _fine_. Becky's just mad at us for trashing up the buggies. 'Sides, we sort of forced you to come here. It's not like you asked or anything, yeah? Just... kinda..."

Torner clings to this tiny notion of potential kindness. He stuffs his head into his knees and mumbles, " _Yeah_ , and... and they _forced_ me into it... and they're all _terrible_ adults and my life _sucks_ and... and I just wanted to... play video games..."

"U-Um, if I may intervene," intervenes Prescott, "they were pressed for time after the vandalism, not to mention our rude misbehavior, so they... we-well, they needed _someone_ to clean up after us, and you happened to be the only other warden in the room. S-Someone had to do it, yes?" Oh. Um. Well _geez_ , now Torner feels like a spoiled brat... _thanks_ , Prescott...

Surprisingly, he feels a hand tap his shoulder. Torner, being the spoiled brat he is, stuffs his face further into his knees instead of confronting his own rude misbehavior, but the hand doesn't go away. "Hey, hey. Let the kid be. Sure, he's a jerk about it, but who wasn't a jerk at his age." Oh. _Ouch_. "We're all tired anyways."

"I like how... you're super _fierce_ around Becky, then you get soft for Torner." Frett yawns disinterestedly. "You're like the string on an ages-old guitar."

Leon straightens. " _What_."

Does Frett have a reason? Nah. Not really. "I dunno, you just, like, are. It's like a spiritual thing. Like... old strings, and... and _you_."

"I can't tell whether I should feel flattered or offended."

Frett yawns again. "Yeah me neither." And that makes everyone get kinda weird for a while there.

"A- _Any_ ways, it is within our best interests to, ah, start cleaning soon." Prescott pinks a little as he speaks, pulling away from his boyfriend and starting to shove a little at the passenger door of the buggy.

Before Torner can unlock it for him, Leon, like, slaps his hand back and mutters, "It doesn't really matter if Sean's coming. He won't care if we've started or not." Small sigh. "He probably brought us food, too..."

Prescott pinks a little more. "Yes, but it would be rude to abuse his kindness."

"Ah, naaaaah!" Frett gets in on whatever it is the older teens are talking about now. "It'd be rude to _ignore_ his kindness! By waiting, we are showing to Sean that we appreciate him and his kindness and therefore waiting is the smart idea!" He pauses, puffing out his chest a little in a show of self-assuredness. "Yeah! _Yeaaaaah_! _BWEERNNGG_! " He goes on for a little while afterward banging up an air guitar.

They don't quite finish their argument before Sean shows up, strolling cheerily and whistling, his gait that funny but chill slowness, carrying a covered platter of something that smells so good Torner can feel his stomach trying to chew its way out so it can get to the food faster. And he can't be the only one, because the others start, like, tearing at their seat belts to get them off and shove themselves out of their all-consuming mire.

Torner sort of remembers oh, wait, _they_ haven't eaten since they started the whole raid thing in Starry Falls. His stomach twinges in sympathy, but once Leon pulls the cover off the platter and a steamy waft of what absolutely must be pancakes swoons into the air, sympathy is out the window and so is Torner. Lysandre comes trundling behind, out of her medal now that freakin' Becky's gone to bed; she doesn't seem to comprehend the utter greatness that is pancakes, but that's _her_ problem.

As the hungry boys congregate around the platter and almost simultaneously begin tearing into pancakes with their bare grubby hands, Sean steps back. There's a funny little quirk of a grin on his lip. He's pleased.

Also he forgot utensils and hand-sanitizer but these utilities are apparently not missed.

Maybe they shouldn't be eating, now that he thinks about it, with those disgusting soily-brown fingers digging into their food as they— _oh well too late_. Like, at _this_ point... at this point.

Prescott's the only one with the dignity to low-key realize what he's doing, awkwardly wipe his dirty hands onto his dirty clothes, breathe out a sad little sigh, then continue on with food.

Rapidly quick, the platter's left barren, devoid of sweet pancakey-goodness, and everyone's still reaching into it like hey, maybe there's an _invisible_ pancake on the bottom, or something equally as stupid.

As Torner and Frett notably continue pawing for more pancakes, not that it changes anything, Sean lets out this happy little laugh. "Yeah, there's a reason pancakes are the go-to. Heh. I'm happy y'all liked them that much."

"You didn't provide enough," mutters Leon, flipping his head so that his hair falls over his face. He resembles a skinny monster with the messed-up twirly hair, the off-brand kind that little kids complain about when it shows up on their birthday party decorations.

After another short laugh, Sean makes a shrug. "Yeah, but if I made y'all all the pancakes y'all could eat, we wouldn' get much'f them buggies fixed. Kinda why we're here in the firs' place." Yet as he puts down his sad truth, there's a warmth in his face, a twinkle in his eye: a bright mirth that must've died eons ago in his sister's.

"Awwwwww, Seaaaaaannnnnnnnn—"

"Ain't gonna getchu nowhere, mister," Sean laughs and flicks Frett right on his forehead, the latter choking on his words and stopping in spite of himself. His olive skin burns red on his cheeks. "C'mon, y'all. Gotta learn ta clean up yer messes or yer'll end up like Stryker." Laughs again. Prescott winces.

He pushes off the other boys before pausing and going, "Oh, m'bad! Torner, yew can leave! Sorry, din' make that clear! You don' gotta clean up since you didn't cause the ruckus!"

Torner's cheeks immediately set aflame. That's not _entirely_ true. He kind of wishes they didn't bring it up a second time. He makes a sly glance at Leon and suddenly fears for his life in the way a victim does when he realizes the bully has surfaced behind him. Swallowing, he continues staring instead of confronting the situation until Leon notices. Blessedly, the older edgy teen takes initiative with a smirk. "Hey, you going or not? We _told_ you it's..." Quiet laugh. Shrug. "If you leave now, you can set up the game so it's ready when we finish." Torner's face blushes a whole lot redder by way of response.

A snort, and Leon murmurs, "What? I gotta look out for you." Rolls his eyes. Mutters something under his breath about "younger me" and moves on probably thinking Torner didn't hear it, but, well. The intensity of blush in his face would beg to differ, if Leon actually moved the hair out of his face and saw.

So with that out of the way, Torner runs from the demon-garage that sent him to literal Starry Falls. It's after he lets the door slam behind him that he realizes Sean is staying and cleaning and Sean didn't cause _any_ of the mess _at all,_ and Torner could be doing a whole lot better than he is. But Sean isn't holding that against him since Sean's nice and all, and he guesses Becky too even though Becky isn't nice and all, but maybe Prescott's right in that Torner shouldn't take advantage of that.

...but Torner already left.

...but now Torner feels like a piece of turd.

...oh no they're turning him into a sentient being _oh n—_

While he debates silently in his head, he completely misses Lysandre's warnings and the fact that it's bright enough to see in front of him outside, so instead of avoiding her altogether, he runs into some girl. Scoffing, he pushes her and starts to turn when her pale fingers dig into his wrist and send him reeling.

A glance at purple hair allows him the blessing of seeing how much of an idiot he is, before he spins out into a receptacle and knocks a few bottles onto the street. Lands in it. Stays there, butt hanging in the hair, high-key ready to die.

"Heeey!" Her high-pitched squall descends upon him. Torner decides not to turn around and face her, or even get up at all. He stays half-slumped in the bin. His butt catches a nice little breeze. "That was _rude_! What the _heck_ , man! _Why_!"

It soon becomes evident that the longer Torner stays silent, the longer this has to go on. "U-Uhmm." He kind of chokes on his own spit and has to work that out for a moment. "I-I dunno." Solid. Speaking into a receptacle, smelling like he belongs in one.

"Nuh-uh!" Oop. Not so solid. _Ahhg._ "You did that on purpose, you _jerk_!" Ohhh no.

Sputtering, Torner begins the struggle to pull himself back up and face Mei Lan. He gets a little huffy with his words. "I did _not_! _Geez,_ you're the rude one! It was an _accident_! Duh!"

Sucking in a breath, Mei Lan screams, "THAT'S SO RUDE!" with the breath of a tornado in her lungs , and without another word about it Torner gets punched a few times in the butt and falls over farther, only this time it's on the hard floor and that's no fun. He ignores the awkward bad tingly sensation that comes from falling on top of his hand.

When he falls, Mei Lan falls too, her high kick's momentum carrying her down with him. Her foot pummels his face and Torner decides he's had enough of this and weakly calls to Lysandre. She's just been... like... staring at them this entire time with her weird ambery-green eyes.

 _But it wasn't very nice, Torner,_ she titters as Mei Lan kicks his face again. _You're not even trying to confront her, Torner,_ as Mei Lan shoves him a little harder onto the brick walkway. There's another punch, and the tired lythro releases a small breath of disappointment. Her size inflates, she scoops up Mei Lan with one paw, and holds her in the air as she waits for her pathetic fighter to run off to the warden headquarters. She follows shortly, gently placing Leon's angry sister on the ground.

Torner slams the door behind him. Then he catches Lysandre's eye, groans, opens it a tiny bit for her, then slams it shut again. His sweat and grime must be coating the glass now, but he doesn't really have it in him to care, not today, not now.

Closes his eyes. Hums a little. It helps. _Gosh, why was she here..._

 _Didn't Liu Ren ask you to be kind to his daughter, since she lacks friends? I think you've done the opposite here._

Of course Lysandre has to pull that card. _Nnnnnnh. How do you even know that... Bhhhh—But—But I—_

 _I've access to your mind, Torner. You didn't actually do anything. You were protected in the shell of a bone buggy the entire time, and I fed you directions where you had none. Had you not overreacted, this wouldn't have been such a hassle._

Oh. _Ouch_. Getting told by his vivosaur. Oh—Vivosaur—

Torner awkwardly remembers the fact that Sean's is still in... his pocket... not the bone buggy or Sean's hand or... uh... anywhere. But it's evident that none of the other warden heads are awake right now, or at the very least present to account for Torner... and the vivosaur... ahh...

Before entering the world gate, he just sort of places the medal onto the ground. It's not until entering the thing that he realizes wait, Liu Ren put coordinates in it last time, and then he gets spat out onto the exact same metal again and Sean's stupid evil vivosaur laughs at him and Lysandre just sounds really tired.

Wonderfully, a little option's included where he can click **Go To Last Destination** and it works out okay. In a daze put on by utter exhaustion, Torner stumbles back into the nighttime—night?—of Regis and scours for a bathroom, where he dutifully scrubs himself over with wet rolls of toilet paper and the soap in the dispensers.  
He doesn't realize the showers were right behind him, around a corner, until it's all over. Then instead of actually showering, he just slumps a little more into himself.  
Maybe next time.


	12. ARMS and Also Siblings

**Hey**

 **look who has reTORNED  
**

Backwoods

12: ARMS and Also Siblings

Torner is woken by only the most ungraceful of means: someone shaking his shoulder and a low-key scrunched up all annoyed face. Purple hair sort of tickles his cheek and he tries _not_ to think about that, but it really does tickle, so it's hard not to.

"C'mon," a low tone mutters, "get up already... it took me half an hour to find your room and _this_ is how you repay me. And I came _all_ this way... urhhhh, I should've been smart about it and waited till you contacted me yourself, but knowing _you_..." This suspicious pause. "Is that toilet paper on your arm Torner."

"WHBHBHH NO IT'S NOT." Starting straight up out of his—his position on the floor—someone didn't make it to his bed last night—Torner hastily wipes said toilet paper off of his arm. It's still a little sticky, though most of the water's evaporated. "What're... You're already..." He just woke and he's out of breath. Somehow Torner still finds this surprising.

Leon, his sharp brows raised, continues. "Well, yeah. Like I literally _just_ said, as you started waking up and all"—crossing his arms over his chest all pompous-like—"it took me what, forty solid minutes to find your room because I couldn't _find_ anyone who could just tell me." He stops to flip his long purple hair out of his face. Because that's important, obviously. "I'm lucky you didn't lock your door."

Ooooooh. He forgot to lock his—Well then, what else did he forget to do. Glancing at the television, Torner finds that he did at some point get his NS into his room from Nate's—though not how this occurred—but, turning into the main area of the chamber, he finds that he did not remember to put his clothes in—wait no he's _never_ put his dirty clothes in a basket, what does he think he is?

"Nice boxers?" Leon's attempt at conversation startles the thirteen-year-old until he casually checks himself out and notes that he _is_ in his boxers, as well as a gigantic tee-shirt that kinda makes him look like he's not wearing the boxers, or anything, underneath.

The boxers have little pink dinosaurs on them. They might _maybe_ like only _possibly_ be Torner's favorite pair of boxers.  
He, uh, he doesn't wanna talk about it.

From somewhere in his skull he swears he hears a certain vivosaur chortle.

Pulling his giant shirt over his boxers a little more, Torner then puffs out _his_ chest and folds _his_ arms over it, mirroring a certain purple-haired someone. "Ssssso whatcha doin' here anyways?"

"You—" Leo glances away to proffer a short laugh. "Dude, you said you wanted to play, uh..." Suddenly bashful. "Video games! You said you... freakin'... you're making me really awkward here, c'mon, man..."

"Oh, uh." In some attempt at securing his pride, Torner nods in that frantic way some adults do. Like—Like Stryker. Stryker nods that way sometimes. "Right, _I_ knew that. I was... just testing you!"

Leo closes his eyes. Lets out a breath. Opens them again. "What are you even talking about." Then he turns and faces the television..

When did he get the television?

Maybe Stryker dropped it off for him. Oh, maybe. Sounds improbable, but he didn't have a television before, and televisions don't have legs, as far as Torner can tell...

As calm and collected as Torner tries to be, all it takes is him tripping over a controller to lose all of it. His face burns straight bright red as his hair, which flops all over his head in what simply has to be an unflattering style. And his shirt goes flying around his chest, ungh.

It takes longer than it should for him to get settled, moving his singular couch up by the television, plugging in his NS the way Leroy taught him. But eventually he does, and with his remaining morsel of dignity he situates himself beside a much taller and cooler Leon. Secretly Torner hopes he can be like Leon when he gets older but he has a feeling he won't. He'll probably end up like Hanzo, or something, if anyone.  
Leon's _cool_ when he's not edgy.  
Like. _Heck_.

Hanzo's cool though. Eh, sometimes. Despite himself Torner keeps imagining how his brother'll beat him in _this_ game as he starts loading up that new one he got awhile ago, been meaning to play but got too busy playing the racing game to play it.  
He gets the feeling there's something wrong with the fact that he feels he's too busy playing _one_ video game to play another, kind of like he needs better priorities in his life. But he's about to shrug it off when, of course, a certain white-and-red vivosaur flops onto his lap.

 _You do need better priorities._

Lysandre's like the mom he never had.  
She's better than any other mom experience ever before in his life, and it makes him hate her.  
Who _needs_ responsibilities. Not _Torner_ , that's who.

Handing Leon a controller, Torner starts up the system. Then he pauses. "Wait, this one has really cool online functions... Uhhhh what's the Wi-Fi?"

Leon silently, methodically searches through the console's settings, mindlessly clicking on a service, typing in the password, then letting Torner take over to return to the game. This crawling aspect deep in his soul wants to ask how Leon knew the password, but the rest of him's convincing that one part of him that he probably shouldn't ask.  
He wonders if the bandwidth crashes a lot around here.

Okay finally they get to the character selection screen. Leon scrolls around, making faces at all the options like he's better than them, eventually settling with the one Torner's just started calling Snaker. Because—Because he looks like a snake. Softly, in his quieter tone, the one that feels like something special, Leon reads, "Kid Cobra..." Pauses. "What kind of a _name_..."

"They all have weird names." Torner's explanation is all they have, so they go with it. They haven't even started playing yet, but Torner already feels his palms sweating because he doesn't play _nearly_ enough of this game and he—he keeps _seeing_ himself _losing_ and he _hates_ it. Scrolling frantically through characters, he eventually releases a sharp breath and selects the cool mummy dude.

Leon barks out a laugh. " _Master Mummy_."

"He's the best of the best, _duh_." Well, duh, uh.

Kind of feels like he should've chosen the ninja guy because it makes him think of Hanzo, and maybe if he chooses the character Hanzo would choose he'll be able to muster his older brother's strange, intense ability to win at everything. Ungghhhh.

So the two join an online lobby. Torner tries to scan all the usernames of the people playing against them like it might reveal how much of a _scrub_ they are, and because Leon can detect how stupidly hard his friend's concentrating, he chooses to stay respectfully silent.

Late morning light trickles in through a window, which makes it annoyingly harder to focus on the screen, which makes Torner want to kill the windows. Except he can't, because windows, and now he's locked in on an online battle so closing the blinds is no longer an option. Gosh his palms are _sweaty_ , he is _shaking_ , this is, this is _sad_.

Running a nervous hand through his clumped hair, Torner prepares himself for what he tells himself is gonna be the best. Leon readies his controller, then asks, "Wait how do we con _trol_ the guys?" and understands from the twist in Torner's expression that the boy has forgotten. So, y'know, basically screwed but it's fine.

"So this is a two-v-two, right? Which means—"

"Yeah don't hold me up bro."

Leon snorts. "You're telling me."

And it turns out Leon's _right_ because he gets first blood or—uh—first hit or... or whatever. All the characters have crazy stretchy arms that _whoom_ across the still bigger stages, so Leon just times his puncher punch arm right and it punches the lights out of _one_ of the enemies and—

Torner panics. "H-How'd you—"

"A and B buttons let you punch your arms."

He feels his heart gnawing slowly out of his chest.

The character Leon's against is that one girl with the giant hair, and—oh what fate—Torner's mummy boy is facing the ninja dude.

Somehow he feels like this _is_ fate, and that just makes everything that much worse. From her comfortable position on his lap, Lysandre _chuckles_ , like his demise is her favorite cake ever made and she is just _eating_ it _up_. It makes—It makes Torner _really mad_.

He starts rapidly swinging his puncher punch arms at the stupid ninja but the ninja's a _freaking fast ninja_ and he does this _whoosh_ thing where he _dodges_ all of Torner's attacks because the stupid ugly purple giant mummy is slower than his freaking grandma.

Eventually the ninja builds up this strategy that works because of _Torner's mummy not Torner it's all the mummy's fault_.So—So because the mummy is so stupid and _incompetent_ , the ninja guy ends up, like, phasing through the game by using his dumb ninja smoke bombs and, and _beating him up_. But it's not Torner's fault cuz it's freaking—dumb _mummy_ is a _horrible_ little—

While Torner's busy hating on the poor mummy, Leon casually sweeps in and destroys the other two guys on his own.

"I— _Hey_! That is, that is _not_ cool." Sputtering a little over the edges of his tone, trying to—to act _cool_ like Leon and not whine also sometimes like Leon. Trying his best but his best isn't very much.

"My saving our butts isn't cool."

Torner feels his pride bubbling in his throat. " _Yes_."

A snort. "You're just jealous, bud." Rolls his eyes. "Lemme win at something for once." And—despite Torner's attitude, and despite the fact that they're communicating through a fighting video game—there's a warmth in the air.

But of course Torner has to ruin it. "Yeah well my brother will beat you I bet, the next time he shows up and plays this game! Because he's immediately good at _any_ game he _ever touches_."

Quiet again. Torner suddenly gets this feeling he said the wrong—

"Hey, your brother's... Hanzo, right? Think he's mentioned you once or twice."

"Whhh? Oh, uh... Yeah, that's him..."

There's a... slow, small smile, hesitant but ready, on Leon's lips. Torner has completely lost focus on the game set in front of them. "Reminds me of my sis. Mei Lan?" Oh _shoot_ his sister's _her_? Oh... _shoot_. He—He'd forgotten. "She's a jerk though. But she's... stupidly good at stuff too, like Hanzo is. I just..." Presses his lips together tightly. "Don't hate on me for saying this, but... when I see people like him—and her too—I just... wanna see them crash and burn.

He's not focused on the game either. Head tilted, eyes screwed shut. "Is that stupid? Maybe that's stupid. I just, I hate it. I hate seeing people who're so... strong, like—it's like they're flawless, above us, or something. But they're just people. It... I dunno"—sigh—"it's _annoying_ , is all."

There's this part of Torner that's weirdly touched his low-key aspiration told him all these things, but then there's the _Torner_ part of Torner that goes, "Why're you telling me?"

And Leon laughs again. Softer. "I dunno. You're easy to talk to. You remind me of, like, a younger me."

Torner doesn't want to show how giddy this makes him feel, so instead of responding, he glares angrily at the online battle going on the television screen: currently this one character—a girl in a giant... machine suit... thing—is using a fun, thoughtless strategy where she grabs his mummy with her machine suit arms and throws him against the ground repeatedly. It's depressing to watch, so Torner doesn't.

Instead he half-glances at Leon and mutters "you're cool" in that quiet way people mutter things when they want but _don't want_ the recipient to hear.

Of course Leon hears. He's half a couch cushion away. "Aww." Shakes his head slowly. "Nice of you."

"Not nice of me. Just truth."

And Leon evidently doesn't know what to say to that, and then Torner doesn't either, so they stare and watch as Torner's mummy guy gets utterly destroyed for a round before he goes to the character changer screen and switches to the ninja guy.

Loses the next round too.

Torner gets the sucky feeling in his chest that he is a natural disaster when it comes to this game. Should be expected, since he's maybe played it twice before and doesn't even remember which characters don't freaking completely _suck_ , but Torner still hates himself a little for it. Does any of this make sense? No, of course not; this is Torner's way of thinking after all. But to him he feels an utterly unrighteous surge at the prospect of loserdom at a stupid video game.

 _Yeah your priorities are terrible,_ Lysandre reminds him, like it might cause him to rethink them.

Pouting in that childish way he pretends isn't happening at all, Torner gets up and stretches. "Mmhhh, well that was a good _warm-up_ round. I better start playing serious." And he _hears_ Leon snickering and he _feels_ Leon trying to pretend he's not, and it spares his pride a smidge, but it's just so happened to push every ounce of Torner's dignity off a cliff.

He switches to his tracker and in a spurt of passive-aggressiveness contacts someone on it. The ringer, ringer— _ha_. "Helloooo? Are you busssyyyy?" he immediately asks.

A blessedly warm, ditzy, happy voice pervades. "Nah, just woke up but nah. Sup, Torner?"

"I am playing video games an—"

"YOU NEED SAY NO MORE." Before even finishing his sentence, a freckled, pink-haired teen in his rumpled pajamas surges through the unlocked, gaping door to Torner's room.

Leon screws his lip and the atmosphere of the chamber flips. " _You._ "

Registering the shady figure slouching beside the kid-teenager, this awkward little grin pops onto Nate's rapidly-paling cheeks. His freckles stick out. "And you too! _Wow_ , what a coincidence, huh? Guess Torner had to go and nab himself another friend. Cool, coooool..." He struggles to enunciate as his tone kind of curls into itself, forcing buoyancy where words sink.

Being himself, Torner hardly notices the added thunderclouds encircling the chamber. He jumps in front of his television, throws Nate a controller—the latter almost catching it and then watching it hit the ground in a sort of horrified awe-stricken state—before shuffling back onto his couch. Nate quickly joins him, smushing the thirteen-year-old between his taller, older friends.

His two aspirations.  
Oh _boy_.

"Soooo... dude, like, how much did that controller even cost?"

Torner struggles to refocus on the game, but it's hard because watching himself fail repeatedly at a video game is pretty much a personal pit of pure evil. "Dunno. My aunt and uncle bought 'em all when I got my NS."

"Oh." Nate doesn't sound like he can believe the boy. "Dango dang, duder."

It turns out he is as bad if not worse than Torner at ARMS, so it works out because they switch to local play and totally team up on Leon a bunch of times. Only Leon _keeps winning anyways_ and it freaking _sucks_ but—but, well, they're doing their best.

As the boys continue, the tension melts, and before long Leon flips his hair out of his face to turn and face Nate, venerable violet meeting bright blue. "So, dude. You still getting yelled at by Stryker or what?"

"Yeaaaah. It suuucks." As Nate lets a grimace fly through his usually so positive features, the other teen nods sympathetically. "I just, _man_ , don't see the point in screwing around with practice. Can't get in the mindset. Plus Stryker's _always_ watching over you, and it like—"

"I—Oh my gosh, I'm the exact same way! I can't _deal_ with it, constantly making me feel like I gotta prove myself or something. Unghh."

The longer they chat, the more gutsy, powerful their punches grow in-game. Nate begins to overcome his short redheaded friend as a duel of sorts between Nate's popstar girl and Leon's snaker dude takes over the match.

"Exaaaactly. I hate it, so I just don't deal."

"Smart, smart..." murmurs Leon. Through the fierce creases of anger in his stony, foundation-lined features, he's... humming, just softly. "But the thing is, I never could get through the Warden Exam and, like, you did... so I just..."

"Maaan, that's probably what's screwin' you left and right up in here!" Nate swings—Leon dodges, counterattacks. Manages a hit on popstar girl. Torner watches all of this unfold, strangely enraptured by the parries and the strikes and the _chemistry_ of the battle. "How you feel like you gotta force yourself. Doesn't work like that."

A grunt. Leon's character sails through the air, smacking the ground in a painfully loud splat, a rough expression splitting across his player's face. "I agree to disagree, dude. It's more than not trying at all. Gotta put _something_ into it, y'know? Can't let my faulty instinct take over."

"Hmmmm... dunnooooo..." But he doesn't argue it either, not even after the match ends and Torner wins because nobody paid any attention to him.

Winning that first round is far more enjoyable for him than it probably should be.

…

"So, um... This is where you live?"

Hanzo pauses momentarily as the girl beside him speaks, her voice a... bell ringing in his otherwise soundless home. What greets them amounts to—at first glimpse—little more than a hollow in a mountain; however, due to clever usage of technological functioning and arrangements of furniture, the niche comes off as inviting more than isolated, cold.

Homey. A homey little cave.

As he carefully combs his way through the chamber, checking to make sure he hasn't left anything stupid out of place, he fits his hands beneath his mask and pulls it over his head, allowing his gloves and then his clothes to follow, sliding into a snug mass on the ground. His tail sticks out like a scrawny Torner in a gaggle of wardens now that it's no longer hidden beneath layers of fabric. Feels... sore.

Regarding his guest in the corner of his mind, he gently kicks his stuff into a wedge of the chamber. Turns toward her—nervous, despite how... similar they are.

Both dinaurian. Hah.

He _knows_ how it is, _knows_ why his body is so uncomfortable dressing like any other human, acting like he looks just like any other one of them, yet he still hides it.

Ah...

Duna's not even looking his way. Her calm, magenta gaze—holding back an onslaught of mixed impressions from so many new and different things—steers herself, an anchor, around his chamber, before finally glancing back toward the entrance. A feeble screen streaks across the hollow before it spills down a spiral of stairs into his home, and it sort of works to protect from wind, but it's not always much of a success.

She... squints. "It feels lonely here."

Oh. She's... fast, uh. Hanzo needs a second to think up something to say in response. "Yeah, it... is. I'm mostly the only person who stays here, so... yeah." Glances in... shame at his tail, his scales, the not-quite-skin-color pink dancing along his fingers, his cheeks, his legs. An amber-red sneaks around his knees and forearms and embosses him in bright green-laced patterns, filling out his chest, a circle around his neck, stripes down his legs.

He stares at it all like it's still so new.

"I just... nobody else really knows what I am, so I... I mean, I need time on my own to..." It's... hard, wording an answer to his feelings.

Since he's never had to explain himself before.

Pressing her lips together, Duna regards him once again. "How... strange. I ah, did not exist long enough in the past to learn whether or not fellow... humans displayed any sort of animosity toward dinaurians. I... wonder how... Dino and—Raptin and the others did..."

"Oh that's not... I just..." He totally bit his lip. Feels it throbbing. Ugh. "I just don't—because, like—dinaurians sort of fell into the genes of people and all and, like... I dunno, hardly anybody is one and I'm..."

A knowing smile graces her lips. "Oh. You are self-consc—"

"Ye-Yeaaah. That." Weak grin. It feels weird knowing she can see him smile. That he's not... covering it up with anything.

His parents knew. But his parents were also incompetent, so perhaps they couldn't tell fantasies from the reality of their son's tail.

Then moving in with the aunt and uncle. Then constantly coating himself in extra layers. Then running away with Sasuke.

Now here. This dinaurian girl, her blue scales shimmering with an opulence not unlike the sky at night, decked with stars, waits before him. _For_ him.

Her fingers tightening together in front of her, Duna proffers another little grin. "Well your scales, they... are a flattering color scheme, I think. Heh—That is a... compliment. For dinaurians and..." head lowering, "all. He-Heheh. I used to... say that to Raptin, because it made him blush, and it was funny, seeing him get so embarrassed about...

In that little ball in front of her, Duna's hands squeeze tighter. "Never... mind." It's a like a wall she's shoving back with sheer force of will alone, her eyes trembling, her figure drooping, her head lowering, yet still it stays back, yet still she stands strong. Lets out a small breath.

"You do not have to continue living like this if you do not wish to, Hanzo. There are... always things you could do, like—"

" _Dun—_ "

"Telling your brother. He seems like... he would still care about you, because I think he really does like you. Or... perhaps a trusted friend or relative. Or—"

"Duna I—I just..." Hanzo can't look at her. "It makes me feel really uncomfortable, I'm... sorry."

She gasps, shakes her head a little harshly. "O-Oh! I understand! My apologies."

"No it's... fine. I mean, you're right, keeping secrets isn't all that healthy since it could always get spoiled eventually, but I just, but it... I just feel so uncomfortable... it's easier to keep myself covered. Act like... I don't know, my family doesn't know, so I can just pretend that I'm..."

Another shy smile from Duna. "But they are a part of you, Hanzo."

"Yeah..."

It sort of annoys him, how perceptive she is.

Most people just aren't that way, and yet she is, and of course she's dinaurian, of course she just so has to recognize the little chips in him that everyone else seems to skim over, the things he likes so very much to hide, he—unhghh. It's so _touching_ he kind of hates it.

Without any sort of warning, his eyes as far away from her as they could get, he mutters, "You can, uh, stay here too, if you want." Closes his eyes like he's already regretting it. "It's warm. Nice. Keeps out the... rain. Gets good signal. If you're into video games, or... anything."

And then her laugh, and again that... sensation, the _bell_ , her voice filling the atmosphere as he alone never could. His home... warmer than he ever thought it could have been.

"Hanzo... I like you." And again the laugh... a wistful smile filling her features.

And yet—despite how short their time spent together has been, despite how stupid he feels, despite how impossible this should be—a little... kindling, a tiny fire of... affection catches deep in his chest.

Still unable to look at her. His tongue swipes across his lip. "Yeah, uh. You're pretty cool yourself."

And once more her laugh swoons within the chamber. Her soft... tiny... cute little laugh.

Hanzo is decidedly smitten.


	13. Speedy Fast

Backwoods

13: Speedy Fast

Unfortunately, before Torner can learn to become the best ARMS player there is and finally begin his campaign of smiting his competition asunder, he receives a call on his tracker. Leon and Nate both start and stare at him smushed between them on the couch like they _know_ what's about to happen and they pity the poor soul about to experience whatever caused the regret in their gazes to blossom.

Swallowing his confidence, the size of a walnut, Torner presses the little accept button and he—well he gets screamed at and immediately switches to speaker mode so the screaming doesn't actually melt his ear. There's this glitch of tone in between speaker and not-speaker, so Torner misses the beginning.

"—VERY IMPORTANT MISSION TO EMBARK UPON IF I EVER WISH TO GET YOU FULLY TRAINED AS A FUNCTIONING JUNIOR WARDEN."

Shutting his eyes, Nate groans. "Ohhhh it's Stryker. Yuck. What a _fan_ tastic surprise."

"Mmmm, sorry dude," Leon mutters, brushing a hand over Torner's shoulder like he's trying to give him what little support possible to be given when in the presence of the warden chief.

Everything is so much quieter when Stryker has ceased yelling. But then—"DO YOU READ ME OR DO YOU NOT, CHILD?!"

From her spot on his lap, even Lysandre grimaces.

He's so horrified, he forgets how to speak. And then once he tries, his mouth is so dry he has to stall again, but stalling is another experience entirely—he can sense the timer's ticking in his skull, and once it hits zero, Mount Stryker's gonna erupt into an avalanche of screaming all over again. "NO NO NO I UM I READ YOU SORRY." Long inhale. Drag of breath. Sag into couch.

"GOOD. TRANSPORT TO MIDELL AND FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH THE REST OF THE STABILIZED WARDENS WHO LIVE AT ITS HEADQUARTERS. IF ANYONE NEEDS ASSISTANCE, I SCHEDULE YOU TO HELP THEM." A thoughtful pause. "AND DON'T FORGET YOUR JACKET OR PEOPLE WON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE." Finally a _clik,_ and Torner is blessed by lack of Stryker's molten voice.

The group all stares at the kid's television in this weirdly mournful state.

"Maaaan." Nate awakens, albeit reluctantly, twiddling with a strand of pink hair that _boings_ back into place each time he releases. "He makes the simplest of things sound freaking scary. Like, you're just... visiting the third warden branch, no harm done. I mean, Dahlia might pressure you into racing her—ooooh—or Lucky'll try to sucker you into doing junk for him, but like..." Musing. "Y'know, I make a pretty good Warden Survival Guide."

A snort on the other side of the couch. "Probably because you've experienced most of the terrors you speak of."

In some attempt to fuel himself, Torner swallows another walnut-sized speck of confidence. He doesn't know where he finds it, but he tries to keep it there lodged within his chest. He slogs over to his bedroom and changes into his jacket and—and a pair of pants to cover his boxers—and shuffles to the front of his chamber, walking each time in front of the television. His movement blocks the victory dancing of the characters on-screen, his face a somber mask of long-ago regrets. Lysandre gets up as he heads for the entrance and circles around his heels, the good lythro she is.

There's this... hesitance... bubbling in the air, that feels about to pop. Torner's friends know they're crashing in Torner's room, playing Torner's NS, getting better at him in ARMS and all, and they know this is when they should probably pack up and leave.

Staring at the floor, Torner blurts, "Just uhhhh, turn off the TV and stuff when you get bored. Yeah. And don't... l-let Nate break anything?" And before he can catch their responses he slams the door shut behind him, sucking in this gigantic breath of air that tastes a little tiny bit like loneliness. Coughs.

Hurries down the stairs. Does _not_ make eye contact with Lysandre. However, eye contact notwithstanding, she withholds and wages the power of communication. _Well that was nice of you._ But he's _really_ not in the mood and he _really_ doesn't wanna talk about it cuz he still feels himself shaking immensely, so he continues to walk with his hands slumped in his jacket's pockets and hoodie pulled up down corridors and corridors until he reaches that wormhole thing. World gate. Whatever.

 _Torner, this isn't anything to be ashamed of. I'm saying what you did really was—_

Really not in the mood. _Yeah but I don't care I just, I just, I'm... nnghhhhh._ It's no big _deal_.

There's that part of him that wonders if these friends of his have only become friends of his to get closer to his NS. Yet, Torner, instead of examining his evidence, buries his heart in the pit of his tummy and trudges onward, his hoodie pulled ridiculously over his forehead. A sharp edge of shadow cuts along his eyes.

Like Mario, _just_ like Mario, like he's about to go save the stinky princess for the one billionth time, Torner squirms, facing the little pocket wormhole just sort of casually sitting there in front of his face. He fastens his imaginary seat belt, then sighs and manages another morsel of a step forward.

His lythro companion lowers her gruff voice into a grimace. _You are such a child._ But, well, she is absolutely correct. Torner over here, acting his age.

He takes his time looking over all the fun buttons and fobs surrounding the structure—his bones literally _chilling_ as he recalls the force of purple-haired girl that caused him to act so quickly the last time he was here—but he finds out that the world gate whatever is actually pretty easily-coordinated. A fob for Midell, a fob for Ilum, a couple unmarked ones that test but do not break through Torner's curiosity—not over his overwhelming wall of cowardice—and so Torner pulls the fob for Midell and leaves all mysterious buttons as mysterious buttons.

Landing is a horrible prospect. So is the part where Lysandre literally buffets his face on the way down.

Having satisfactorily thrown these memories into the wastebasket of his mind, he picks himself up, plucks Lysandre's medal off the ground, plops her into his extra-wrinkly pocket, then parades his way past the small corridor up ahead. The path opens up to a grand entranceway with stairs and well-taken-after carpets and nice, garish windows that let in all of the sunlight, an—

And then girl.

And then very _very_ attractive girl.

Lysandre literally gets out of her medal, then totally steps on his foot, and he doesn't even notice: there is _so_ much attractive girl up in here.

Her hair's like—it's like his but somehow flusher, redder, thicker with this sheen he could never muster out of his own, and hers falls all bouncy and cute-like around her shoulders, her eyes a charming amber peeking out behind this super hardcore-looking visor that reminds him of Mario Kart, her clothes like something also out of Mario Kart, her skin a sun-kissed brown that horribly clashes with his I-never-leave-my-house bleach white.

Within his whiteness, Torner can feel his face burning.

He forcibly yanks the hood of his jacket over his head again and proceeds to hyperventilate like the _child_ that he is. Somehow this does not alert the attractive girl of his presence, and then it occurs to him that having shoved himself halfway behind the back hallway is a great way to be ignored by other human beings. So it's with a swallowing of his pathetic, walnut-sized confidence he really doesn't feel anymore that Torner throws his hood back, marches ahead of his fears and regrets, and attempts to lock eyes with—geez, she must stand at a head taller than him.

Quickly Torner forces an image of the most romantic thing that comes to mind—Penny slumped against Nate that morning after they'd fallen asleep playing video games—and he decides that he must somehow appear as attractive as—as—as _that._ And then the attractive girl will most certainly like him back.

"Why're you standing in my way, kid?" And immediately Torner finds his first sign of everything blowing up in his face—her voice a warm, summery breeze effortlessly _blowing him over_.

Puffing out his chest, running a hand through his spiny red hair, Torner goes, "I'm _not_ a kid! I'm thirteen, believe it or not!" At this point he knows he's screwed up. It's too late to go back though, so he just sort of keeps awkwardly shouldering on. "I'm like, I'm not a kid at all!" Which—Which means—if the attractive girl takes it in that way—that since he's not a kid, he's _totally_ her age and—and— _yeah_.

This... _laugh_ , sort of unintentionally loud, filled with an energy, melts the attractive girl's sharper, sort of square features. It is an attractive laugh. "Ooookay? I mean, if we're playing the age game"—shifting her hands onto her hips—" _I_ happen to be fifteen."

And then Torner knows she's out of his league. He tries to telepathically convince Lysandre to step on his foot a second time around, but now that he's asking for self-inflicted punishment, she won't do it.

"Fif _teen_ , you say." Torner is intimidated. "That's, uh, that's not _bad_ I guess." Only two years older than him. But, like, that _is_ the difference between him and Trixia—his _eleven_ -year-old younger cousin—so like, it was already over from the start. Such a shame. Such an attractive girl. "So uuuhmmm... where are the wardens around here _any_ ways?" Maybe he should focus back onto his mission now.

Actually—hey—tied around her waist is a certain orange jacket. Heck, that means she's one of them too. But, uh, fifteen, so probably a junior war— _she's on his level?_ "Mmm? Oh, yeah, Violet said somethin' about a new warden surfacing on our backyard for the day." She snorts, her hair catching the momentum of it, and once again Torner is ashamed of the two years that separate them from ever having _anything_ together. They could've been JW sweethearts. They could've been betrothed, like Nate and Penny... oh, oh no. "Sooo I'm Dahlia. I'm a junior warden, like the likes of youuuu."

Then she extends her hand and Torner gets to shake it and it's bigger than his hand but it's a very nice hand. Very, uh, attractive.

Oh, unrequited love. If _only_ Dahlia was thirteen.

There's this pause. Dahlia's hand addresses her visor, as if she just needed to feel it for a moment, remember it's there. Torner has this feeling he's seen the visor before somewhere, but it's not like he'd remember somebody else's appearance ever. Even if that there visor looks fantastic upon this attractive girl. "Soooo I guess I'll lead you over to Drake and Violet. They're the leaders. Veeeerrry romantic, which is annoying, but oh well." Without even a pause Dahlia just randomly starts moving in a direction; Torner scrambles to keep up after her.

Lysandre decides that she doesn't feel like keeping up their pace and reverts to her medal once again, the picky fiend, which Torner catches and then thinks of leaving on the floor, so he doesn't have to listen to her for awhile, but it turns out he lacks the heart to follow through.  
But he considers it. Kinda seriously too.

She returns to her place in his more-wrinkly pocket.

In the back of the chamber, there lies a convenient elevator—kinda reminding Torner of how Regis is set up—and conveniently like Regis, it's spaced with the floor where everyone eleeps, the floor where the Big Warden Chiefs sleep, and the floor where the leaders of the branch hang out and do Big Important Things. By now Torner has recognized that there is more to the warden administration than a bunch of people with receding hairlines, and all, but he's still not really expecting the sight that greets him upon meeting the acclaimed Drake and Violet.

So uh. Drake's a viking. Viking? He kind of... looks like one, he has like the helmet and all. But he's also crouched into all his papers more like he's hiding than he's focused, and also the moment the elevator door pings open he starts from his seat.

The soft, plump woman standing to his side—Violet? She, uh, wears a lot of purple that's for sure—turns to Dahlia and Torner and this little happy smile dances over her lips. "Oh! Dahlia, it seems you've brought us a visitor!" She inclines her head in the general direction of the mildly angsty thirteen-year-old. "How exciting!"

She gives off mega Lysandre vibes—like a—like a mom, but not only a mom, but an actually good mom. The really nice mom who everyone wishes was their mom. He—Like—the wide-brimmed hat and the little coat kinda remind him of literal magic, but it's still... warm, welcoming.  
He kind of hates it.

Then Torner catches the actual wand in her hands and his blood goes freaking cold.  
Is she like—a _witch_? Or is... is she...

Torner begins to realize that he doesn't care what she is—just that, after checking the clock, he notices it's about time _to go_.

"Oh... right, visitor..." In this low, soft tone that suggests the antithesis of Violet's enthusiasm, Drake low-key busies himself furthermore within his carefully-stacked mound of paperwork. Due to the fact that he hates human contact this apparently much, Torner gets this feeling that Drake is the only warden leader who actually gets things done. Like—that's a pile and all—but Stryker's was an actual castle the last he saw, and virtually untouched, and Becky and Sean don't really appear to deal with paperwork. More, uhhh, like, figuring out issues, hands on work, and then yelling at Leon when he screws up.

Whoa—it takes a second, as Drake finally peers into a direction somewhat near Torner, for him to register that solid heterochromia. One of his eyes is a quiet, soft blue, the other a sharp, spooky gray. His curly blonde hair flops through his helmet to subdue his otherwise harsh features.  
And yet despite all of these things at work in him, all Drake comes off as is an even gentler Sean.

Swallowing, Drake manages to start himself up. "Uh... welcome to Midell. It's mostly... very... quiet here. Except—Except for the races. And Blacknycto... sometimes. And when... uh, the diplos get... angry. Which is sometimes... too. And it's scary."

Something about the look on Drake's face revisits a time of hiding beneath the desk he currently sits at.

"Riiiight!" Violet, gently nudging her companion, spreads her hands warmly toward Torner. She's the one trying to make him feel better about himself, and yet Torner's sort of liking the vibes of viking dude a lot more. "Midell's very chill, hah. Lots of snow and stuff when the weather's right. Oh, and we've quite the scene on music venues! I guess that's not very quiet..." she muses, her gaze returning to Drake's.

A sort of ease spreads across him when Violet returns, waiting calmly by his side. "Y-Yeah. But it's quiet in _here_. With the... the wardens. And paperwork." Pause. "I like paperwork... It's mostly just, uh... reviews for things... Stryker did, and expenditures on... Blacknycto. And sometimes complaints or... things the city wants to... do. But those are easy... It's just painful looking at all the things Stryker wastes money on..." Did somebody turn up the thermostat because a hot flash just passed over this here junior warden like a thundercloud.

Gently Violet nudges her viking again. "And don't forget Lucky's—"

"Oh ah... right... Lucky—our, ah, son—he's psychic... like Vi... so they, ah, they've been working on... learning the extent of their abilities... and, uh... stuff."

There's something overwhelmingly cute about Drake calling his wife Vi, and Torner thought romance grossed him out but first the attractive girl incident—he's still wishing Dahlia was thirteen like him—and now... like, Drake's so... ugh, _Drake_.  
Okay, out of all these goofus leaders, Drake stands at the top. Maybe that's only because he has yet to make Torner do anything, but _still_ , that means something. Vi? Uh, Vi's got that mom-tone in her voice that suggests chores or nagging, so maybe _not_ Vi.

Like, Violet's cute and all, with her lilac hair and her little hat and the button-up coat with the coattails. And her voice seems nice, but... urrhhh maybe Torner's just seen too many sketchy wardens as of late so he's just, like, on _edge_ and all.

"Oh my! I can't believe I forgot!" _Torner is on edge Torner is one hundred percent on edge._ "I made cookies! Would you like one, either of you?" _Gosh_ that woman nearly scared the heck out of him.

Glancing back at his attractive companion, who immediately goes "yessss cookieeessssss," it suddenly occurs to Torner he kind of hasn't eaten since those pancakes Sean made, and that wasn't _that_ long ago, but it actually sort of really was.

As Violet steps off through another door leading to somewhere with cookies, Drake sits up straight in the realization that he is now the only adult in the room. There's this vest he's wearing—all snug and stuff—that Torner didn't even see on him until he stopped hunching over his desk. It's like the entire room altered with the shifting of Drake's posture. "Do you... have any... questions?"

"Uhhhhh..." For some reason Torner looks at Dahlia, but _she's_ looking at him, her visor glistening, and that somehow makes it worse. "Mister Stryker said I have to like meet a buncha wardens... So do I have to go, like, meet a buncha wardens?"

It soon becomes evident that maybe this question shouldn't have been aimed at Drake. "We-Well _yeah_ meeting other wardens would be um _great_ Dahlia you can show him around and, uh"—in all ways except speaking it directly, Torner gets the impression that the warden head of Midell is very much into the possibility of getting this stranger and also Dahlia out of his room as soon as possible—"enjoy, uh, Midell and what it has to offer."

Though she's been silent—respectfully so—for almost this entire exchange, the latter now raises her brows and remarks, "Aiiight, okaaaay, but I'm getting my cookie first so chill out, Dad," her gaze soft in a way that suggests she's seen this unfold a number of times before and has come to accept it.

Wait, Dad?

But nobody else brings it up. Nobody else even _hints_ at the fact that it exists and it was said.

Torner gets to stand there in this perpetual agony as he wonders what it all could mean until Violet returns, a dashing reprieve from the chaos in his soul.

After cookies and after leaving the couple behind them, Dahlia turns to the new junior warden. There's a weird quiet in her, like Drake's rubbed off onto her or something. "Ya look like you've seen the rest of HQ already, uh? Yeaaaaah we run things a little different here. Stryker, like..." She leans against the elevator in an oddly comfortable manner, shoulders bared against the metal wall. "He leaves us alone mostly since Drake and Vi are so capable, so it's... super chill. Juuuust don't screw up too much and everything works out all good all good up in here.

Snatching Torner's hand—he very much is excited—his attractive companion cries, " _Nnnowwww_ you help me fix my bone buggy," and suddenly she is not attractive at all.

He feels his stomach sinking deep into his soul and, the more he tries to yank it out of the pit, the further it slips out of his fingers, falling through an acid reflex to the nadir where it sets itself on fire and slowly burns to a soulful crisp.

Fantastic.


	14. Never Trust a Hot Girl

**Guess who came BACK  
woods**

Backwoods

14: Never Trust a Hot Girl

For what feels like the umpteenth time but is actually only the fourth, Torner peeks feverishly over his shoulder. He has yet to successfully make eye contact with any of the other random people hanging out in the garage. However, he's decided for himself that he will succeed eventually, so long as he does not give up. It's like fishing, fishing for help, only nobody wants to help him and the fish are all full and nothing is willing to fall easily into his lap.

If only he could work his way past his own mounting self-doubt. At the stark, unpromising age of thirteen, Torner just _knows_ everyone can see it all over his face, his thirteen-year-old-ness, and he _knows_ they won't help him, not now, not ever.

Somehow Torner completely accepts this. He wholeheartedly understands—or at least thinks he understands—exactly why no one would help him, when in actuality he knows nothing, as per his usual.

" _Torn_ er! Stop bein' useless and get under here!" A hand flops out of the bone buggy Torner has awkwardly been loitering by. The hand—glimmering, tan—slaps against the side of the buggy, roughly shaking Torner's sense of reality.

The redhead quietly purses his lips. He thinks about it, and then he decidedly does not speak. In fact, oh _no_ , he goes and he lets his arms cross in front of his chest. It makes him feel pretty hardcore. And then— _then—_ he leans against the buggy.

And then Dahlia's hand fastens around his ankle. All prospects of winningism and superiority melt into the warmth of her tan palm. Torner low-key considers screaming, but also, like, it would just prove to _every_ last stranger in the room that he really is nothing more than a thirteen-year-old child.

And Torn—Torner's _more_ than... than...

"Come onnnn..." Fitful grasping from the hand, until finally Dahlia manages some sort of grip in the right place and Torner goes toppling down like the sales of that one NS game that was really bad, the one that he bought while still at full price, _um_.

From somewhere sequestered within the velvety warmth of his pocket, Lysandre snickers. _You truly are one pathetic child, you poor thing._ Yet she, his fierce spooky lythro, doesn't appear to feel a need to help her fighter out of his latest strike of idiocy.

Once she's gotten her hold on him, Dahlia's eyes—red like, like _blood—_ gesture up at the engine sputtering casually above their heads. Kind of... like a volcano, like a volcano right above their freaking heads.

Torner stares in stunned horror at the purgatory he has fallen into. Driblets of bone buggy goo—the like stuff that runs their engines—how would _he_ know what that is, he doesn't _take care_ of them—spatter over his shirt. In an overwhelming mess of tangled pipes and exhausty smell, the rumbling engine awaits like that one really bad mummy character in ARMS. Like a... like a mess, like one Torner knows in the pit of his soul he's gonna get to deal with.

"Okaaay, sooooo..." Dahlia raises her brows, as if she assumes Torner already knows what to do.

His eyes fill with that of a sinewy dread.

The redheaded girl grins, more a demon now than girl, the shadows underneath the buggy exaggerating her mussed hair into horns, her lips into fangs, her face into something so terrifying Torner can't possibly describe it—

Ugly laughter echoes in his skull. Angrily Torner snags Lysandre's medal and slings it out of his personal space, only to hear the patter of his vivosaur in her stupid smaller manageable feet leading her to just in front of the buggy.

So she could watch.

Dahlia continues to steadily raise her brows. Torner can only pick it out cuz it's so—so _exaggerated_ , like freaking _everything_ about her. "Well, Tornyyyyy..." Ew no he hates that nickname. "Y'see, you're smaller than me, so you'd fit betterrrrrr..." Her eyes drag his upwards, upwards, until they land on the hatch hanging out by the engine.

"Wa- _Wait_." Torner swallows, his stomach frantically clawing up his throat. In its wayward attempt to escape, all achieved is a faint aftertaste of upcoming failure. "But _that's_ not how you fix bone buggies! You... You call someone and they stick tools in there and it's all done! Nobody's supposed to _fit_ in—"

"Well it's your lucky day bud because I'm not quite sure how I'll get Mei Lan's vivosaur out otherwise."

Torner's stomach sinks to the bottom of his gut. He stares feebly at the side of Dahlia's head, as close as he dares get to her blistering snarl of a gaze. "N-No. Not... Not _her—_ "

"Like I _said,_ it's your _lucky—_ "

He attempts to squirm his pathetic way out of this hell until he realizes Dahlia never let go of his ankle.

It does not take very long at all for the girl to shove the boy up the hatch and basically into the engine. _Why_ her speed demon—when it's already so teeny and dainty—has enough wiggle room for a boy Torner's not-yet-hit-his-growth-spurt size to amble about in a tiny ball is a great question. He considers asking Dahlia but ultimately decides that she probably wouldn't know, and even if she did she wouldn't tell him.

Nnggghhhhhh he has a _bad_ taste in his mouth.

Crawling amongst all the crud in his soul, Torner sneezes once or twice. He feels something musty and old cake his face. Fear steadily climbs a ladder down into his heart as he swings his head around and hit— _hits_ it against something—hits it freaking _hard—_ and then his breath gets all raspy and his eyes pinch and his throat gets wet and he knows it's coming and pretends is isn't and he—

He has this, this _flashback_ from when he was a little kid and he had to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night and it was _dark_ and he thought an ax murderer was inexplicably about to kill him. And this was exactly what it felt like, _this,_ this utterly knowing that the ax murderer was in the engine with him and wanted to watch him die, this _whole_ time. All those years ago, it was waiting for today.

And then Torner remembers that no, this was actually five weeks ago, and then he feels pathetic again.

But he also remembers—gently reaching up to his tracker—that there's a flashlight built in it. Flicking it on, a hot-white light slicing miracles out of the dark, Torner tromps around a bit more on his hands and knees.

He thinks he catches a glint of something, so he nervously follows it, his knees trembling and making it sound like pebbles rattle around with him in the engine. He questions again why the engine's so weird—geeeeeez, maybe _Dahlia_ built this dump or something—when he catches the light again and there's a... tail.

Hurtling after the tail, like some stinky kid trying to catch their first vivosaur because they played too much Pokemon and know nothing about revival, Torner almost and then fails to grasp the shrunken form of a— _raptor_? He can't tell. He never paid attention when people tried to teach him what all the vivosaurs freaking were. Like, they're all just dumb vivosaurs, right? What's the difference?

A _hssssssssssssss_ spills out from under one of the pipes ahead. Torner's blood burns _hot_ in his veins and he'd stop if it didn't remind him so much of Dahlia. Geeeeez, first Mei Lan, now Dahlia. Torner's life is endlessly being led from one means to an end again and again by scary girls. And it all started with his cousin, or maybe his mom.

Faintly, he detects a voice curling round the buggy.

"Heeeeey, Daahliaaaaaaaa—"

"Ungh dang it not you again—" A certain demon-girl bumps her head against the buggy—causing Torner to lose his balance and bump _his_ head against something—again—before crawling out from underneath her mess of a vehicle. "Oh hey Lucky." The distance between her voice and his well-being has lengthened. He can't tell if that's a good thing. "Whatchu doin' here?" This... ease pervades her tone, the kind that he's never heard Dahlia muster before.

The, uh, Torner thinks it's a little girl, the little girl giggles loudly. "Just checkin' up on my big sister!"

A snort. Probably Dahlia. Since she's _mean_ and all. Yeah, cuz, cuz only mean people snort. "Well how's she lookin', then?"

Long introspection. Torner timidly skims down the aisle, snagging his hands on useless things like the sole gears that allow the bone buggy to function. "She looks kinda scowly. Why you scowly, sis?"

Low, low laughter. The sound of Dahlia's mirth is frightening, like something you could accidentally set off fireworks with. "Because this dumb buggy's not working again." Catching that edge in it, the one snared around him, the one compelling him onward, Torner lurches forward and promptly crashes into something that he hopefully deems unimportant until it causes the buggy to shake uncontrollably.

Turns out it's a... switch? He quickly flicks it and things go back to as smooth as they possibly can. It's not all that smooth.

"Why's it not workin', sis?"

Torner steers himself—his heart thumping in a rather silly dance—down the last corridor, catching sight of these big green eyes and a thin, long-legged figure. Some sorta... purply-bluish...

"I dun _no_. Mei Lan got mad at me for almost running her over, and it hasn't been the same since. I mean, her fault for getting in my way, but it's all good, I have someone looking into it."

Fin— _Finally._ Panting, rasping, covered in smelly sweat and realizing he hadn't taken a shower since that one with the paper towels in the sink, Torner corners the vivosaur. Then he—his hands—he like _lashes_ out and _snags_ it and it _bites him_ and he tries to not wail but it's sneaking up his throat...

"But siiiiis, how can someone look _in_ to if it _you_ built it all by yourself? That makes it kinda im _poss_ ible!"

Then the bite's too much and Torner begins to sob.

An inescapable pause sneaks around the buggy until someone pokes their head up into the hatch. Someone with tiny hands and feet, someone with a far better sense of direction than Torner, someone who bumps up behind him and goes, "Oh hey there! Maaaan, Sis thought the _buggy_ was makin' that sound! You sound just like a... like a _thingimajigger_!"

Tears steadily burn, hot and sticky, down Torner's grubby cheeks.

"Heeey, I'm Lucky!" says Lucky, "and you must be... Mr. Buggy Sounder Maker!"

Wow that was so not funny that Torner cries harder.

Then Lucky, as Torner awkwardly shuffles backwards, catches glimpse of the raptor squeezed within his hands. "Wooo _ahhhh_! I want one!" Without another word about it he snags the evil thing from Torner's hands and darts out of the hatch.

Torner takes a long time staring at his ravaged hands and trying to comprehend just how much of a mess his face is, staring into shiny metal bits in the buggy's stupid grimy engine, before sighing and moving on with his life.

Upon exiting, he glances huffily at his lythro. She deigns not to respond. How _expected_ , hhgrhghghh.

Lucky, to his left, happily shows off her—wait _his—_ prize—wait _his?—_ while his sister claps politely, her demure smile disguising all sorts of nasty feelings she's made Torner feel inside.

Wait if she has a brother why didn't she make the _brother_ do all the—  
 _UNNNNNnnnghhhhhhhhhhhhhh_

"Okay, Lucky, now you be sure to help me give that back to Mei Lan, okay? It's _her_ vivosaur, so we have to return it."

"Awwwwww..." Lucky pouts. "Fiiine." Just like that, Dahlia's a good sister. It makes Torner really want to step on her foot, so he does.

She turns on him and slaps him square in the jaw. He awkwardly sails back, but it turns out the slap was really weak, so he doesn't even go that far before catching himself, low-key fuming. Lysandre curls up around his feet, still giggling softly, her shimmery amber-almost-green eyes twinkling in that annoying way that stars do. And it's cute. And it's freaking _cute_ , and he wishes it wasn't.

Shaking himself, Torner glares back at Dahlia. "Why make _me_ do it when you could've made your brother?" finally giving voice to the hurt in his heart.

"Oh, that?" She's slowly, hypnotically twirling a strand of flowery red hair around a finger. "Cuz I wanted to, and you looked like the sort of man-labor I needed."

He flushes, doubly hurt. "Why didn't you do it _yourself_ then? You look stronger than every single man I know here!" Including Leon, including Nate— _especially_ including Nate—including—oh wait no not including Liu Ren, everyone except Liu Ren, then.

"Becaaause..." Her sharp, amber gaze takes a long stroll about his bewildered, crumpled expression, his eyes struggling to hide these annoying tears that resurfaced at some point. "I felt like it." And she flips her hair over a shoulder, her eyes hard and unassuming.

Torner glances at Lucky, and then Lucky feels it and looks back at him and _grins_ , dumb kid holding one of, oh gosh, one of _Mei Lan's_ vivosaurs like it's a stuffed animal, Mei Lan's vivosaur all flushed like Torner. The boy's chubby kid-hands tightly clench around the raptor's entire body in this weirdly casual manner. His pale skin—a shade or two lighter than his sister's—offers sharp contrast to that poor purply-blue raptor that Torner is now relating so hard to.

Dahlia scoots over and runs a hand over her brother's thick, curly red hair. That's when—as his bangs shift—Torner spots this—this _design thing_ on Lucky's forehead. It's like, like a V but three Vs with two small vs flanking upside-down Father V, and they're all red like his lythro-teeth-red eyes.

Though, compared to his sister's Mario Kart getup, he's pretty normal other than the whole V thing going on. He's in a t-shirt and shorts, just like Torner would've worn while _his_ older brother got all up in his ninja garb—

So—Wait wait wait wait. When Torner went and met Drake and Violet— _wait—_ Dahlia— _Dahlia's_ their daughter and they didn't even _react_ like she was— _Whaaaaaaaaaaaa—_

As all of this finally sinks in, he slowly raises his lost gaze to meet the girl who was of his dreams until he learned her age. "So Drake's your _dad_ too." Hence why, that's why she said to him... "But he like—"

"Yeaaahhhhhhhhh"—Dahlia's cheeks angrily flash red, a quietly screaming stop sign—"I don't like to talk about it."

Torner stares dumbly at her in his Torner way. Lysandre cringes, already experiencing what's about to enact. "Why _not_."

Her cheeks flush harder, and a pout digs down her lips. "I don't _know_ , because they're our adoptive _parents_ and they _clearly_ like my brother better than me? Because he's _psychic_ and all I have are the mechanic skills our _biological_ dad had, and all I ever do is _build and take apart_ cars that they have the money to buy? Because Lucky's _cute_ and I'm that older kid in foster care they only got because he's the psychic kid's dumb non-psychic older sister?"

Lucky's eyes have glazed over in that way eyes glaze over when they've heard this more than enough times already.

Sucking in a breath, it occurs to Torner that he maybe shouldn't have said what he said. But only maybe. Lysandre lets out a huff implying a little more than maybe.

Slowly Dahlia eyes her brother; then she hunches over and asks him softly a thing that Torner misses. Lucky looks about to cry but Dahlia keeps it up, talking him down, softer, softer, until she coaxes the raptor right out of his hands.

Then she slings it at Torner.

"Get in."

Torner's still trying to pry the thing off his face, so he misses it, but then she says it again and his insides go _sub-zero_. "Whhh—What? No." Still prying, pryyyyiiiing—there we go, finally the poor thing slips right off and he cups it in his arms. Lysandre implies that Torner should hold _her_ with that much care the next time he picks her up and Torner delightfully ignores her, because she was a total jerk today.

Dahlia meets his gaze above the raptor. "No, you're getting _in_." Her lip curves into some sort of mockery of a smile. " _You_ riled me up, so _you're_ helping me give that stupid v-raptor back to Mei Lan."

Torner considers saying no. He glances feebly between the siblings, the fact that there's only two seats in Dahlia's buggy—like any normal speed demon except he now knows that's not the case—and after a few seconds of feeling sorry for his sorry, sorry self, he climbs into the passenger side.

Traipsing behind him, Lysandre plops onto his lap beside the— _v-raptor._ Haaa that's weird, v-raptor, Vs on Lucky's forehead. _Honestly Torner, you asked for this,_ his supposed vivosaur buddy states in her cold and soothing tone.

 _Yeah, I guess, but I like him more than everybody else I've met so far._

Torner sputters. _Who—_

 _The name's Gremaine,_ says Gremaine, _and I am Mei Lan's least favorite vivosaur. Her most favorite use of me is found in sabotaging others' buggies, because Mei Lan is a terrible person with no friends._

Admittedly, Torner—well and Lysandre—take quick liking to Gremaine. Lysandre goes _oh you poor soul that sounds miserable_ and reassures Gremaine that Torner is too soft and childish to do anything that drastic—except for that one time with Sean's vivosaur.

The way she doesn't elaborate is ominous, but Torner also doesn't want to elaborate cuz it'd take _five years_.

Dahlia, after hugging her brother good-bye, props open the buggy's door and slumps into the seat—it's squishy and fun to sit in, unlike every single car seat ever. As Dahlia runs her hands over the engine and all the little gadgets, enabling this, adjusting that, Torner can... can _tell_ it's not just like a bone buggy, it's like... different than a bone buggy, plus it has cupholders with this fancy fob that can heat up your cup while it's in the cupholder. After Lysandre sees that, she sits in it and turns on the heater. But—But anyways, it's not like normal buggies have all those functions. Or maybe some of them do, but Stryker can't afford them.

O-O-Of _course_ , Torner only _notices_ because he has _nothing else_ to look at, so _what_ ever.

Waving good-bye to her brother, Dahlia cranks her visor round her head and turns around, switching into reverse. Her buggy freaking _glides_ over the earth, and once she zooms forward she _zooms_ and Torner realizes he forgot his seat belt again and it takes him a _very long time_ to get it connected because guess who's going too fast, that's right, it's Dahlia.

She's still hot. Torner pretends she isn't, because of the age gap, but she still is. And that _look_ on her face, rapturous, fulfilling, as she zooms down the road, keeps Torner mesmerized for a long, long time.

At least until he realizes they're going at least ten over the speed suggested for this dig site—he missed the sign for its name—and has a mini heart attack.

 **Just for the record I doubt you can crawl into the, like, innerworkings of regular cars, but I could see there being an extra storage hatch or just some crawl space for if-your-vivosaur-gets-stuck-when-you-try-to-shoot-it-from-the-buggy-onto-the-battlefield  
I mean mainly I just wanted to write torner crawling around in a bone buggy because fun  
but there's the, uh, reasonable? explanation for y'all**


	15. Spoiled Secrets Are No Longer Secrets

Backwoods

15: Spoiled Secrets Are No Longer Secrets

From the driver's seat of a nice little furbished buggy— _rustic,_ with these zesty red stripes down the sides—there lies a man. This man, he is probably exactly like every other man in the world, he figures, and that's fair. That's just how it is. That's just who _he_ is. And again, he reasons, this is all very fair.

The only unordinary thing about him isn't even a thing about _him_ ; within his heart lies the simple fact that he has somehow magically scored the best girlfriend in the entire actual universe.

From the passenger's seat of this rustic vehicle, a woman flicks the corner of her glasses, her eyes this molten hazel creeping toward the man beside her. "Are you even paying attention." It's not a question. Somehow the fact that she states her questions like fact is attractive, but like, no like, _really_ attractive.

His head slumps into his hand; his free one strums incoherently at the wheel in motions similar to that of a guitar. Has Spike ever played a guitar before? Not, well, not ever very _well_. "There are far more beautiful things to pay attention to than the late-morning sky," he proffers, lip curling into his customary I-think-I'm-being-romantic side grin.

He's played Aggro's guitar, his sole experience, but it ended up as good as it sounds. Which is to say monstrously terrible.

Actually they have another gig coming up, and _act_ ually he should be practicing with the others. But he is using his time in far better ways right now.

This is supposed to be a romantic outing—hasn't been this bright a day since two weeks ago, before the rain. But—Well, _she_ wanted to come out earlier, but that would mean waking up earlier to catch some pretty sky-colors he's seen in enough photographs anyways, and this is good enough. This is perfectly good enough too.

His grin somehow manages to curl more sidelong. His girlfriend won't even look at him straight. "That's not cute. And you said it yesterday." Oh ouch _shoot_ he forgot he'd already—

Scrambling to pretend he knew that, Spike's palm slips and slams against the wheel. The shriek of sound that blasts from the buggy seizes his heart. It is very hard to feign coolness, especially when you're not all that cool to begin with. Ah, the mindset of a lacking self-esteem. "Yeah, uh. I'm being retro. Y'know? It's like, a thing. And it's totally—"

"Why are you so bad at this," his girlfriend mutters, her lip curling into what he has begun to refer to as the shadow-of-the-romantic-side-grin, the edgy side, the _her_ side. The girlfriend to her boyfriend, the—yeah, that.

Ignoring her, the guy purrs, "Mmmmm, isn't the late-morning sun _nice_ , though? Gaaah, I'd kill to be that, ah, pretty, and not all gloomy and gray like the use'."

"No you wouldn't," his girlfriend snorts, light-years ahead of him. He feels more than sees her hand graze the very edges of his fingers in her annoyingly _teas_ ing way.

He can't help it; he belatedly catches his smile slipping into a pathetic pout. "Yeah but that's cuz I thought you _liked_ how I—"

"Floppy hair." She rolls her eyes. "Floppy and brown, kind of..." She eyes him, her sharp gaze. "Like a little brown megath.

He glimpses her shadow-facade _slip_ as his eyes tremble. "Don't _look_ at me like—" Her cheeks heat almost sneakily beneath caramel cheeks, sneakily but for the fact that he knows how to spot it now.

His hand snatches her by the shoulder and he almost gets closer but _that's_ when something hits them from above.

 _BURHHGHH—_ then it bounces off as bone buggies do, particularly spotless, or at least any new scrapes blend into the theme.

The couples' eyes glare up, bewildered, at the hardly-left mark of some mastermind, only for his girlfriend to snap forward and grumble, "Oh it's Mei Lan again," then adding, off-hand, "she must be really worked up about something.

"You don't think she recognized us, did she..." She stares into a corner of the buggy, her eyes glazed, the edge... dulled.

This is when the man sneaks over and grazes his girlfriend's cheek and she goes _red_.

In front of them, the distracted couple, a tiny bright purple bone buggy tears the hilly green terrain in a jumble of poor driving and poor treads. Her face flushed, her purple hair a riveting wretch, her lip snared into a snarl, she _slams_ her tiny buggy into the side of a certain home-made speed demon.

Torner lurches out of his chair. Then he fastens his seat belt.

How did he already forget life's most important rule.

Quietly, Lysandre mutters, _At least you're remarkably unharmed, considering._

 _Ha_. Gremaine nods absently, facing the purple bone buggy. _That's Mei Lan._

 _THAT'S MEI LAN?_ screams Torner. Without another word he snags the steering wheel and _forces_ it rightward where it sails into a hillock, but at least that hillock isn't Mei Lan. The purple bone buggy— _the predator—_ Torner doesn't even notice the fact that it's smaller than Dahlia's—steadily creeps toward them.

Dahlia turns her hot-red cheeks and glares with the full force of her steaming lava gaze into Torner's very soul. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR."

"I DON'T WANNA DIE DAHLI—"

"YOU WEREN'T GONNA DIE. DO YOU THINK I WANNA DIE ANY MORE THAN YOU DO."

Yes, you suicidal beast, is what Torner wants to say but is too afraid to.

Grumbling, running a hand through her worn hair, securing her visor back into its tight position, squeezed onto her face, Dahlia steers her vehicle down the hillock. With the sort of slippery grace Torner would've never expected from a spooky lady like her, she gently revs down the engine, stops the buggy, and props open her door. "Hi! Uhhhh, we have one of your vivosaurs?"

But when Dahlia goes to gesture at her captive thirteen-year-old—the one holding said vivosaur—he has gone inexplicably missing. She stares, her anger creeping up her face like magma, steadily rising and rising, until she spies him pressed up against the bit of leg room in front of the—

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM. GET UP HERE." Explodes.

Torner hugs his vivosaur and also Gremaine closer. "NNNNNO."

Her knuckles drain of all color until they reach a sickly state of white. It contrasts horribly with her sandy brown hands. "WHY ARE YOU _BEING_ THIS DIFFICULT TORNER. IT'S LITERALLY HER VIVOSAUR." And she sits there, fuming, waiting, _waiting_ , forcing this idiot kid into this _ugly_ silence until he himself conjures a response.

"C _uz_ "—his voice cracks—"Cuz I hate Mei Lan! She's scary and mean and _mean_!"

"You said mean twice," mutters Dahlia in this sort of deadpan, sort of utter loss.

Mei Lan, by now, has left her own buggy and slunk up to Dahlia's, peeking timidly up through the seat to try and get a peek at her lost v-raptor. When she hears Torner's voice her face burns pink. When she hears what Torner's voice is _saying_ , her hands smack together. She twists her lip, a conflicted—frustrated? hurt?—guise shifting around upon her.

The first thing Torner notices about her is that her hair's not up in that weird Mickey Mouse style. He opens his mouth to ask why, but if there's anything Torner has gotten good at in the short amount of time he's lived here, it's Doing the Thing That Doesn't Make Mei Lan Mad.

He couldn't be more wrong.

"I'm not..." Everyone's heads swivel to the source of that tiny, mousy voice. Oh it's—Mei Lan. That's weird. "I'm not mean... I-I just... I'm just—nnnnh, not _mean_..." And the more she says it the more distressed she is, her pale hands around her pale head, her wimpy purple hair twisted around fingers or left to pathetically dangle, her bright eyes even brighter, her whole self trembling.

And when she does it, when she faces Torner again, she deflates. "You can _keep_ my st _upid_ vivosaur," facing Gremaine, who sits contentedly in Torner's lap. Torner, who has squeezed himself into the farthest, darkest corner away from her.

His lythro—this tiny thing, whose calm eyes somehow balance out the bloody red of her spines—almost seems to like... _pity_ her.

In a huff, Mei Lan turns and darts back into her bone buggy, and in a quick burst of steam, she drives off. By the time Dahlia has slammed her door shut and angrily adjusted some of the thingies on the dashboard screen, the small tornado of a girl has disappeared, seemly dissolved into the air to be forgotten.

Torner gets up. He's unbelievably _stiff_. "Unnghhh, stupid Mei Lan... she's so scary..." As he gets up, his vivosaurs follow, and as he flops into his seat, his vivosaurs flop onto him. Vivosaurs. Gremaine is now his? That's pretty chill, Gremaine's pretty chill, plus Mei Lan treated him, like, _bad_ and all.

Hey, why was he even _in_ Dahlia's engine? That means Mei Lan totally put him there, as like a ruse to annoy the heck out of this demon-lady. F-First of all, _why_ would she do that? And second of all, _why_ would Dahlia return her vivosaur after having it run amok in her engine and maybe pee all over the place? Oh—Gosh, if he peed all over the place, then that means Torner walked in it... oh...

Torner, to the abrupt wall of silence in the buggy, turns to Gremaine for answers. Unfortunately, Gremaine either was told or remembers nothing.

Hmm. He slowly turns to face Dahlia, who has yet to drive. Sort of... taps the window, humming some tune from some video game under his breath. Waiting, waiting, he peeks again, and she's still doing nothing. Torner lacks a watch, but he counts in his head that a million years have passed.

When Dahlia has still not yet started to drive, Torner fastens his seat belt. Then he glances at her again. She's... stony. Um. "Why aren't we going? Can we _go_ now?" Torner's kinda hungry. He heard one of the wardens was, like, super into gardening, and that's like the only reason they got in, and anyways Torner wants to eat food. Lysandre's, like, nudging at him to eat something healthy, too, and maybe that warden lives in Midell—maybe that warden's Violet, who knows...

And all this time Dahlia is silent.

"L-Like, why _help_ Mei Lan anyways? She's the one who threw Gremaine into your buggy in the first place! If you didn't keep him, it'd be me anyways!"

He could choke on this lack of conversation.

Tentatively Torner reaches out to poke her—

"Get out."

He swallows. "Whuh?"

Dahlia won't face him. Her face, slowly hotter, slowly redder, slowly developing into the guise of some sort of demonically livid creature, won't even turn his way. "I said get out."

"Wh- _Why_?" He hears the whine in his tone. "How'm I supposed to get back if I—"

" _Get._ _Out_." Dahlia exhales. She's breathing fire. "Get out of my car."

Torner's lip has begun to tremble. "But—"

Her lip curls slowly into a frightening grin. "I don't see a reason to take someone as positively horrible as you back to do your _damn_ warden duties. Not like you'd even get them done right." Without her body ever moving, her eyes shoot into him. "You don't deserve my hospitality. You don't deserve Mei Lan's vivosaur. You _really_ don't deserve to be here. You don't respect any of us and you expect _us_ to do so much more for you. You understand _noth_ ing.

"I grew up with the people in this organization. You don't have any idea how long it took for Stryker to let me in. You have _no_ clue how important the things we do are, and frankly, I don't _like_ you. I am fairly certain Stryker only let you in because he's a broke idiot, and that disgusts me. _You_ disgust me.

She... breathes, hard, harder, swiping a single hand over her trembling gaze. "Now get out."

Torner is too scared to do otherwise. Once he's slammed the door shut, Dahlia tears down the peaty earth and zips into oblivion. He doesn't watch her go, just sort of climbs back up that one hillock and sits, and then he stares into the distance.

 _You look so dramatic,_ Gremaine comments. Lysandre has gone quiet. She situates herself beside Torner and stares into another distance. _Haha, you both look so dramatic._ Gremaine laughs quietly to himself because nobody is laughing with him.

Eventually, Torner shakes himself. He pretends he is not losing his mind. _S-So now what?_ He imagines Dahlia reaching the warden headquarters and telling everyone he sucks, and then everyone driving out here to kill him or something.

He also imagines calling Leon or Nate and crying for help, but he—

The things Dahlia said are still in his head, and they won't go away. Is that... Is _that_ what Nate thinks of him? Super down to earth and nice to everyone Nate? And what about Leon, saying he's like a younger version of him? Is Leon only his friend because Leon feels bad? Is _any_ one his friend?

Lysandre winces. _Don't think too much about this. You're here, and all, so now everyone has to deal, whether they want to or not._

 _I'm your friend,_ adds Gremaine, but somehow it is unhelpful.

Torner asks, _Is a vivosaur gonna come out of nowhere and eat me now?_ on a completely different wavelength than his exasperated vivosaurs.

 _Torner._ His lythro snorts. _That's a diplo,_ she gestures, pointing out the giant steely gray sauropod Torner has been staring at for the past few seconds in horror, _and they're herbivores. Plus, you'd taste like hormonal teenager, and nobody wants that in their mouth._

 _But then it would put me out of my misery. Do vivosaurs do that sometimes? Put people out of their misery?_ Torner's trembling tone has dropped stupidly low.

Lysandre groans. _Torner, you're a very young human who is sometimes very very stupid, but you don't yet have much experience to back you up with. Just, ah..._ She stumbles over her thoughts. _Try to... be nicer? Oh—Remember what Liu Ren said about being Mei Lan's friend? Yeah. Do that. Be Mei Lan's friend._

 _I even know the first handful of things there is to know about Mei Lan,_ Gremaine adds in another effort to be helpful. _She is very insecure. Her favorite color is purple. She trains very hard and thinks she is strong, but she hates it when other people point it out to her face._

 _That's_ weird _,_ Torner mutters.

 _Yeah well you're weird too,_ Lysandre chides, which shuts him up fast.

More staring. There is silence for a long time until Torner releases a drawn-out sigh.

Gremaine glimpses the diplo curiously. _Hey, lythro._ Lysandre snorts again. _Didn't the diplos, like... I remember I was revived—well, vaguely—a long time ago by this fighter, back in the older days, and like..._ He pauses. _I think his name was Holt? Well whatever. Of all things to remember, right? I think diplos used to be, like, seismos back then? Isn't that funny? I mean, I didn't change all that much over time, but_ they _really did._

Lysandre shrugs the best a vivosaur can shrug. _This is my first time being revived..._

 _Ohhhh, you insecure about it?_

Never one to lie about her feelings, the lythro nods. Gremaine nods back, kind of giggling. She mutters, _You laugh a lot, don't you._

Although if anything the time is perhaps early afternoon, it almost _feels_ like an... evening, like dusk, like the sky is steadily falling to curtains of unruly darkness. The two vivosaurs and one fighter stare willingly into it, just quietly, quietly just staring, as if waiting for something, maybe for change. Change doesn't come for a long time.

Torner is awoken by a hand on his shoulder. He _jolts_ , checks nervously to make sure his dumb pink vivosaur boxers aren't still on, and then promptly remembers where he is.

He tentatively wipes a bit of drool from his lip. "Uuuhh..." When did the ground get so itchy? "Who are—"

"Your name's Torner, right?" The guy comes full into focus. Torner realizes he does not recognize the guy, but the guy looks sort of cool... so he's probably a cool guy. Uh, _yeah_. He is jealous of the guy's brown hair. Brown is such a rare color to have.

Remembering himself, Torner nods. "Ohhh, great. Drake was sending out, like, zillions of messages to wardens in the area tryna find you. How'd you end up here, kiddo? It ain't all that safe to go out walkin' in a dig site."

"Dahlia made me get out of her buggy."

The man was nodding, but here he flinches. "Oooooh that's rough, kiddo. What'd you do?"

Torner doesn't know what to say. He opens his mouth when Lysandre goes, _He said a dumb thing, upset an easily-upsettable girl, and Dahlia got mad at him for it._

"Mmmmm." The guy's nodding again. "I feel that, kiddo, I feel that bad. Good thing Drake and his daughter don't see eye-to-eye or who knows how long you'd be out here, eh?" Then he straightens. "Well anyways, my..." He glances awkwardly in the direction of the _zesty_ bone buggy behind him. It's got red stripes. Torner wishes _he_ had stripes, as cool and as red as the buggy. "My _friend_ and I were heading out. We have gigs tonight and gotta practice.

"You couuuld... hitch a ride with us?"

Torner doesn't know what he's supposed to say here, because it's phrased like a question, but why would he say no. Do they want him to say no? "I-I mean I could ride my vivosaur out of—"

The guy sorta flinches again. "Uhhh, it'd probably be better if you went with us."

Then _why_ did he phrase it like a question? "Oh." Well. "Okay." He still feels supremely weird about this. Maybe because the guy is a stranger guy, and stranger guys are sorta spooky. But he also knew Torner's name, and apparently Torner was in a bunch of messages, or something, that Drake sent out, and that sounds pretty reliable. Drake is the coolest, after all.

Also, who would willingly kidnap Torner, right?

Lysandre bursts into guffaws.

With the guy's invitation, Torner follows him into his zesty buggy. The guy opens one of the hatches in the back and Torner climbs right in, his vivosaurs sliding into the back row beside him. Lysandre and Gremaine share a seat belt and Torner decides not to put one on, because it seems like every time he puts one on a girl gets mad at him, or Leon, and there's a girl in the passenger seat who might get mad at him after he puts his seat belt on.

Catching his gaze, the girl... smiles? Or is she just uncomfortable? It looks like both. "Uhm, Torner, right? I'm Gauss. Spike's... friend." Man, why do they hesitate about that? Maybe they secretly hate each other. That's awkward. "I'm actually—maybe you've heard of us? But, well, Spike and I are part of a couple bands. I mean, I'm part of one, he's... part of another." Geez, she's more nervous than Torner. "Have you heard of us maybe? We're... ah, we call it Celadon Undulation but it... used to be Green Wave—I just thought... CU sounded... cooler..."

After checking whatever he was checking in the back, Torner feels the trunk shudder shut as the guy slides into the front seat. He pumps on his buggy and away they go. "Yeaaah, so I'm Spiiike. And before you ask, nah, it's not my real name, but I mean c'mon _Spike_ , that just sounds so stinking cool. Plus we're a rock band. I mean, _Spike_. I sound like the thing you'd name your neighbor's rabid andrarch, and that is _rad_.

"Soooo have you heard of Red Fang? Yeaaah, hence the Spike."

Wait. What? Torner's heard of _neither_ of these _crazy—_

"Yeah yeah yeah, I getcha. We haven't been out for super long, and we haven't yet developed a dream following, but hey, eventually, perhaps."

Gauss rolls her eyes in a stream of frosty laughter. "Your group is insane, Spike. Heckat makes me feel _incredibly_ uncomfortable, and how Aggro manages, I..." Her lip twists. "Also your names are clearly stage names! Lancelot's at least comfortable enough to go by who he truly is!"

Torner gets the feeling these conversations happen a lot. He checks out a little. "Yeah, yeah, _Gaauuss_. I mean Gauss is cute, you _have_ to go by your name. Anyway, Heckcat is also the best keyboarder in the universe, so there's that. Are— _wait—_ Does she make you uncomfortable because she's hot?"

"NO—" Torner jolts back into their conversation when Gauss yells.

"Oh my goodness you totally do. That's hilarious! And adorable."

"Spike don't—"

"Maaaan you are just the cutest thing in the whole wide world! No worries babe, you're totally one hundred thousand zillion percent cuter than Heckat."

Dead silence. Gauss mutters, "There's a kid in the back."

"Oh yeah." Spike thinks on it. "But like, our band leaders are _obviously_ in a relationship so I don't see what the big deal is—"

"Noooooooooo..." Gauss sinks into her chair.

Then she jolts back up. "Kiddo, don't repeat anything that happens here, okay? Just just please don't."

Torner nods absently. His vivosaurs chuckle.

And when the two drop him off he somehow ends up with two separate concert tickets from two separate bands, only both concerts are tonight and at the exact same time. Then he's like, _oh_ , they're at the same place—then, _ohhhh_ he's supposed to take someone with him.

Wait.

 **Dahlia: DIVINE RETRIBUTION**

 **Torner: aaAAAAAAA**


	16. Send Help, What Do

Backwoods

16: Send Help, What Do

"Hah—Hanzo?"

Eventually, a low, brooding tone had taken over on the other side. "Torner?"

Soon, the blubbery voice on the first side encompassed the entire conversation. "HANZO EVERYONE'S MEAN AND SCARY HERE AND I BET NOBODY LIKES ME AND NONE OF MY FRIENDS ARE REAL AND I WANNA GO HOME BUT I CAN'T AND EVERYONE'S _MEAN_ AND I GOT CONCERT TICKETS BUT THERE'S TWO SO CAN YOU JUST—"

"Whoa, whoa. _Whoa_. What?"

Torner had this problem being that peer pressure regularly affected his choices. If he got two concert tickets, there was absolutely no way he could pretend he had only gotten one and go to the concert on his lonesome, or even accidentally throw the tickets into the trash can and not go at all. There just, there was _no_ explicable way. He couldn't. And because the guys _gave_ him the concert tickets, _free_ and everything, he felt like he would be the worst person in the universe if he brushed off free concert tickets.

Poor Torner thought as if somebody might _notice_ whether or not he would be present. Like he was important or something.

So now what? Dahlia had ruined his perspective on all the friends he'd so far made. He's realized, heart-achingly quick, that they all secretly pitied him and wanted to watch him die but were too nice to say it to his face. Torner's truth sucked.

Without a better plan, Torner had called the only person he believed he could rely on, only to be shot down instantaneously.

"So... bud, are you saying that you want me to go to some... music venue with you?"

Distantly, from that other side, Torner could hear a soft lilting voice point out to Hanzo that this clearly meant his brother cared about him. Torner still doesn't know what to feel about that.

"Please," mumbled Torner.

A dead silence, like Hanzo had freaking _hung up on him_. Until finally the ninja broke it. "I'm... not exactly... comfortable with music, ah, music... venues, Torner. Why don't you ask one of your friends? The pink-haired one, he seemed nice."

"But he secretly hates me," whispered Torner, and then he'd burst into tears.

It turns out that no amount of convincing could pull Hanzo onto his brother's side, so the call ended in a bittersweet pulse of reluctant static. And then gone, all gone.

Torner did almost call Nate. But he couldn't, he couldn't face his newly-created reality where everybody was secretly out to get him. Not _Nate._ The prospect of it hurt too much, like Nate himself had accidentally ripped Torner's heart out of his chest with a mistimed plastic knife _._

Actually the same went with Leon, too, because he was like _this_ close to doing it, but then Torner was like, what if they don't like him, and like a freaking _scrub—_ and he _knew_ it too—he just couldn't do it. Lysandre made some attempt at consoling him, but Torner'd already made up his mind, and Gremaine said something stupid that was funny, and that was fun, but it didn't really mean anything in the end. No wonder he'd already forgotten what silly nonsense had burbled out of the v-raptor's gaping maw.

He'd sat perched on a couch in Midell's common room this whole time. Scrunched into the cushions, kind of sunken. People probably stared at him, but Torner was too busy being self-absorbed to notice anything outside of his personal problems.

So, without further ado, he began randomly contacting the line of people down his list of warden buddies, periodically skipping the ones whose voiced he actually _vied_ for. Like, after taking a hot glance at Penny's cute-fonted pink name, he completely noped out and almost had an entire meltdown right there and then. Contacting Penny was—was too risky: he felt it like a weight in his head, like contacting Penny would compromise some actually important secret mission that involved saving the world. Torner's world.

Eventually, as one would expect, Torner made a mistake.

"He-Hello?" he'd asked, his voice tiny, when the person on the other end hadn't done the honors.

Static. Then an intake. "Torner?" He felt his stomach sinking into the couch cushions. "What brings you to my receiver?"

"Uhhhhmmm." Torner stared painfully at his shoes. "Hi, uh, Liu Ren." He should've called Sean. Sean would've probably been a billion percent on board. Why had he called _Beck_ y in _stead_ ; that was _un_ imaginably _stu_ pid. "I um, I got these concert tickets, like, I got two. And then I panicked and started calling people who might wanna... go with... me."

Wow.

This could go absolutely nowhere on the road that pointed good.

"Ah!" Liu Ren caught on, his voice a dulcet, cheerful bell, and at first Torner's spirits lifted—"You mean to seek my daughter's contact information from me, yes?" They crushed into the cushions, sinking somewhere far below, mingling with the shadows and petty lost coins and lint, and a singular old wedding ring of a marriage that had long since fizzled out—never to be seen again.

And now Torner is awkwardly waiting in the Warden HQ for this girl he hates to show up to this _party_ with him like he—like he _likes_ her even though he kind of really doesn't. Also, to make things even more awkward, because why not at this point, he is totally in custody of one of her vivosaurs. _Also_ also, he got it literally this morning. For saying she was mean. And she overheard.

Torner, below the cuff of his shirt, had wrapped an entire roll of masking tape around his neck in the vain hopes of keeping it attached to his head, no matter what might ensue over the course of the night.

Out in the streets of the city, somewhere just ahead in a clearing, he hears the faint first strums of song. The chords pluck in such a way that they almost convince Torner they're his heartstrings, and then he realizes that makes no sense. But it still feels like it. Faintly twinging in his chest...

Out of the beat arrives her footsteps. He recognizes them well because the _clack_ of combat boots fits her anger issues the best. Torner, trying to be smart, does not say any of this aloud.

Turning, he catches some very nervous bright green eyes, and for a second he thinks they're his, but it turns out they're Mei Lan's, and that's— _um_.

 _Hey look,_ Lysandre calmly points out, _Mei Lan is a real person with real feelings, just like you._ And Torner goes pink.

 _I know that_ , he mutters, _duh_ , but somehow it feels like something he's been trying to deny for his whole life just unearthed like a gigantic serpent monster from the pit of his soul. Wh-What?

She looks kinda cute, which is concerning because she is also Mei Lan. Her hair's still not in Mickey Mouse ears, but instead someone threaded it into this cute tiny purple braid. Torner comes to the conclusion that either her father or she herself braided it, and for some reason this hurts his heart a little.

And the _dress_. She—changed—into a dress. It's purple too, with little white fringe thingies, whatever they're called, and it's all silky and floor length with the puffy sleeves that every single dress ever has. But it's still cute. And that's _weird_.

Because—Mei Lan isn't cute. N-No she's not.

She _can't_ be. That's not allowed!

Torner is literally still wearing his warden jacket. That's how much he tried. His warden jacket and _shorts_ , shorts with palm trees on it that he randomly pulled on without a second thought about it this morning.

"Uh," he stumbles, when Mei Lan's practically in front of him, "hi there." He swallows. His hands are clammy, so he stuffs them into his pockets. Why is his face burning. "It appears I am underdressed."

She floats in her cloak of violet, as if swimming within starlight.

Gosh _dang_ it. Torner steps on his own foot in a fit of... of something, maybe fear.

Mei Lan won't meet his gaze, but that's fair, because he won't meet hers either. "Oh, um, haha..." Yikes, is she just nervous or is that how fake her laugh sounds. "I just... wanted an excuse to wear this. I don't, uh, get many, since being a warden and... and all." She kind of flounces it in this indescribably weird but cute way, and Torner gets distracted watching.

"So, um." She is much better at this than him. "Do you wanna... go... or..?"

Torner gets extremely close to blurting _why did you come if I still have your vivosaur_ , but some sort of sheer force of Lysandre and his own willpower prevents it from releasing. "D'you want... uh, Gremaine back?" Okay, okay she can't get mad at that, right?

"Grem..." Mei Lan stares at a floor tile. "Oh, my... vivo..." She gets even pinker. "N-No, you can... keep it. I didn't take very good... care of... uh..."

"Him?" squeaks Torner, and she sorta nods.

"Wh-What about Dahlia? What was the d- _deal_ with her?"

Mei Lan's gaze very nearly grazes the edge of his face. "What do you mean, what about... Oh, why was she being so nice?" Torner's nodding. "And, like, why she's trying to help me, even though Gremlin was lodged in her buggy, and all?" He's nodding so hard he waits for his head to fall off, then—wait, Gremlin. _Gremlin._ "It's just... I don't know. We get along weird. We kinda stick up for each other, b-but um... also don't. I... I don't know. We're adopted daughters of warden chiefs. Kinda grew up together. She's like a semi-annoying older sister, I guess..."

Her voice dances itself to oblivion.

"Oh." Staring in abject silence, Torner adds, "Okay," then bites the inside of his cheek.

Why did he let himself get stuck in this situation. But then there's that part of him that's like, this is kind of cool, and at least she isn't completely on stinky Dahlia's side, or whatever, then the rest of him is trying to burn that part of him, and it's sort of discouraging.

"Your dress looks good," he blurts and immediately regrets it.

Mei Lan visibly... flinches? "Th-Thank you! Um..." Her eyes wander and fall onto him for the first time maybe that whole day. "I like your shorts. They're... funny."

"Haha. The funniest thing about them's that I didn't know they existed till this morning."

"PFFF—" Mei Lan covers her face with a cutely gloved hand.

Torner quickly runs a clammy hand through his hair, like it means anything. He realizes that he has not combed it for a few days and tries to play it off like this is something normal for spiny hair. "Oops, uh..." He stares at Mei Lan's hand for a moment and decidedly does _not_ do anything weird with it. "You ready?"

"Ye-Yeah! Sure. I was... uh, _born_ ready, and all."

So they spill out into the night. It is not until Torner doesn't hold open the door for her that he realizes, oh no, this isn't a date, is it. This can't be a date. But then Mei Lan doesn't comment on it, so he sighs, yet he's not sure if he's relieved or _something else_. Something terrible and monstrous that must be killed with steel.

He glimpses her, this girl even shorter than him—and he hasn't even hit his growth spurt yet—and isn't she fourteen—holy turd he's _thirteen_. She has this... almost peaceful, almost utterly freaked out shimmer in her gaze, and Torner ends up wondering how long she's been feeling like that. And he—he wonders why she said yes to... uh.

Cuz like, literally just this morning he got Gremaine. Maybe—yeah— _Maybe_ Liu Ren forced it onto her, like how he forced it onto Torner. Or maybe she genuinely wanted to go, to be invited to something so badly that she... didn't care if it was... Torner... inviting her.

Oh gosh that was too depressing for him. It was, uhhhh, probably not the truth though. Ye-Yeah.

Once they've reached the plaza, encircled by buildings like something out of a video game—a sentiment that almost makes Torner feel more comfortable—this guy takes their tickets and the two file on in. Torner, trying to play it off as everything but, continually glances at his strangely cute companion to try and, like, figure out what she wants to do. He literally has no idea what kind of music she'd prefer, and he sort of expects her to wander off into the sunset of Red Fang and get all into that screamo drummy strummy biz.

So of course she goes to the other side of the plaza; it only makes sense that Torner gets to be wrong again. Bu-But uh, Red Fang was all loud and spooky anyways. He can't even listen to his games that loud, he has to... turn the volume down, like a... grandma. Or... something. Pff, like a mom would if his mom had raised— _um_.

Torner realizes he shares something in common with Mei Lan. It is perhaps the weirdest feeling he's ever experienced, and he's so confused by it that he loses her in the crowd for a second. And it's a small crowd, and it's only a second, but in that second Torner learns that he kind of doesn't want to lose Mei Lan in the crowd and it's a—and it's a weird feeling, and he's not sure if he likes it.

But he kind of does. Ge-Geez, do Nate and Leon care about him like this? Wanting that, uh, friendship, but worried it isn't reciprocated...

Oh no Torner really hopes they weren't pretending to be his friend for his NS oh _no_.

Why does Torner want them to be his friends so badly.

After catching up to Mei Lan—which is another sensation entirely—he stands by her, by the piano. He has no idea how and by what means that piano made it to the edge of a plaza, but there it stands, sleek, thick, black, so still... as if a sleeping vivosaur. That's weird, he remarks, and then laughs to himself, and then Mei Lan looks at him and asks what's so funny and _that's awkward_. But he ends up telling her, the freaking loser he is, but then she laughs and he forgets all about it.

And it's so weird.

The music streaming out of the piano is so gilded and... solid, a golden ribbon reaching outward for the heavens, something weirdly soothing but also... real. Man, Torner doesn't know how to feel about anything...

Maybe tomorrow he'll know, but all he can manage today is soaking it all in, like...

like sunlight.

Gauss, that weirdo lady, is perched powerfully at the piano, her fingers a flurry of brown gliding over keys, and beside her's this... _dude._ His hair a forestry green, his eyes a seafoamy blue, his skin a flushed pale. He dresses even nicer than Mei Lan. Lancelot? Torner feels like Gauss mentioned the name on that wild ride back.

Torner mentions it, and Mei Lan giggles. Then she goes, "Naah, I think _I'm_ the better dressed," and Torner almost corrects her until he realizes it's a joke.

 _oh_.

"Nooooo, you got it all wrong here." He addresses his shorts. "Clearly _I_ am the—"

Mei Lan doesn't even let him finish, she's laughing so... hard.

And then there's that weird part of him, the one that compels him forward, the one that goes hey, now's your chance, say something else, something funny, something that'll make her laugh again, and he's breathless with the frenzy of it all.

Someone bumps against him and he turns, but he misses them when—Mei Lan snags him by the shoulder.

Someone is standing on top of the piano.

They are in all black, including a black hood masking their face, which is freaking so sketchy.  
Wait that's the _point_ —

And then they toss a ball of smoke into the sky.

Coughing emerges, rasping, louder, louder. Voices float into the fray as tattered, raw sounds that never quite twist into words, more and more of it conglomerating, jumbling into a knotted mess. The hot, smelly taste of sulfur lingers in Torner's mouth. He's on the ground. When did he do that? Mei Lan's beside him, and they're both sort of crouching, and he can _sort_ of make her out in the smog, if he squints, but it's also hard to breathe and somehow that makes it that much harder to see. His vision's, like... shaking.

She remains a smoggy darkness, almost-human, nearly-demon, pale skin laced with bruises of black.

Swallowing thoughtlessly—regretting it—Torner coughs and tries to... tries to say...

Breathing hard, panting, _try_ ing...

"What... was—"

"Blacknycto," she whispers, already knowing, "They call themselves the BN Brigade but we call them Bully Nation because it's, it's funnie—" Her dry mouth cracks and she loses her voice.

They fall into an abysmal hush as dark as the night.

Torner worries about her dress, her cute purple dress that she said she always found excuses to wear... Trying to peer through the smog, his eyes teary and aching, he can't... tell, and that annoys—really annoys him. He really freaking wishes he could. It's just... a cloud of gray, smog, but so is everything...

As the sky finally reopens above their heads, as the clinging wisps of shadow dissipate, Torner bumps against his companion. They're standing... again, and—they're breathing hard, and it kind of sounds like everyone is breathing hard, and there's...

On the ground, there's...

Graffiti? It's not even that good graffiti though. Scrawled out, it reads **BN RULEZ** , like, okay, whatever, BN, but then there's...

The piano, it's been smashed in where that guy with the sketchy clothing was standing. Smashed... all the way in. Torner cringes, and when Mei Lan follows his gaze she cringes too.

Suddenly this— _heat_ floods through Torner, and he mutters, "That really sucks." He pauses, sort of glares at the mess, and he goes, "I wish there was something we could freaking _do_ about it..."

"Um..." Mei Lan's staring at him. "Torner? We're wardens."

He catches on. "Then—"

She's nodding, and in his head something actually clicks, and it's wondrously satisfying, a dizzying reprieve.

All of a sudden Torner realizes that wardens aren't all that useless. And there's a reason Liu Ren keeps trying to get Nate to practice, and there's a reason Roland was catching up on all that low-key bogus assigned reading, and there's a _reason_ he's in this program, and it's not to wander around and eat pancakes every once in awhile.

He can like... _do_ things. And that must be the weirdest thought of them all.

 **Torner actually developing as a character has to be the weirdest character development I've ever written, and, I mean, every single character has an arc throughout a story, so like  
that's saying something xD**

 **I dunno I'm worried I'm going too out of character without trying to go too out of character because it doesn't feel like it should be out of character but Torner what is going on with you holy turd**


	17. Cleaning up Others' Messes Is Hard

Backwoods

17: Cleaning up Others' Messes Is Hard

After a long, hard day of avoiding Stryker and essentially just watching television, Hanzo finally unmutes his tracker. He is met with the unparalleled screeching of his younger brother.

Huh. Only this morning, the tyke called him up, and now...

The _bip_ of a voice mail alerts him to the message's send time—half an hour ago—and a giant grimace creases over the dinaurian's usually so stoic expression. "Oh no," he mutters, then presses his thumb to his chin in pondering. After he's successfully adjusted the volume dial to as low as it gets, he replays his brother's voice mail:

"HAAHHNNZOOO A BAD DUDE SHOWED UP AND TRIED TO KILL A PIANO... wait what Mei Lan what's—NONO CAN WE _NOT_ DRIVE IN THAT BUGGY—GIVE ME A SECOND OKAY I'M CALLING MY BROTHER— _YES_ HANZO, HE'S SMART, HE'LL SAVE THE DAY FOR US." A long, breathy pause. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO SAVE THE WORLD YOURSELF? NO I AM NOT GETTING IN THAT BUGGY! LET GO OF MY HAND I'M NOT I ALREADY SAID I'M NOT"—the inevitable _clik_ of seat belt pulling over head, snapping irrevocably into place—"I DON'T WANNA DIE MEI LAN! I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE EITHER ANYMORE SO STOOOPPPP—"

There is a long, painfully drawn-out pause. Hanzo's heart catches. From somewhere on the other side of the room, he detects his new roommate stirring. She asks, softly, "What is it, Hanzo?" but he's so focused on trying to hear his brother that he misses it entirely.

Finally, blessedly, his kid-brother's voice spills into the tracker once more. "Okay I guess we're going to follow the bad guy, so uhhhhh..." Mumbling under his breath. "What in the _heck_ do those coordinates mean, Mei Lan? They're _weird_ , why are they using numbers to describe something? Numbers are for math, not _language_." More mumbling. Mei Lan's hiss of a tone cuts into the receiver, but not enough to make any sense. Something about it sounds hilarious, like that cat in the cartoon with the mouse, and Hanzo chuckles absently over it. "Okay we're in sector something seven four eight A twelve, something something uhhhh secret code? No no... Oh! Oh, that's the access code to our current location. So uh. Put that in your... ninja... code... powers. And come save us. Before Mei Lan runs us off a cliff would be preferable, but it's okay if you only get us after the air bags have knocked us out. I, uh, I'd understand.

"Oh and if I die I love you."  
He rushes the last part so bad Hanzo nearly misses it, then stares, befuddled, at the wall.

Finally he recognizes the silhouette striding toward him, her figure poised, her tail lashing with a fever of anticipation that he only just notices has mirrored in his. That's... huh. "Hanzo, who was... speaking to you?"

"Ah..." Hanzo shakes his head, his red hair a small tornado. "My... brother. Torner, I mean, it was... Torner." Duna's soft giggle punctures through his thoughts and Hanzo forgets what he was doing. "I mean, yeah, Torner was... calling me, because...

Then it all sinks in. "Ohhh shoot we have to go find him right now." Quickly he voices the access code into his tracker and summons a nice handy map of How to Find Your Lost Little Brother in his mind. "How did he...

Releasing a long breath, Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose. After counting to himself to three, he meanders over to his clothing pile and pulls on all of his... covering, carefully hiding his tail, the stripes on his cheeks with his scarf, his gloves pulled snug over his scaled hands.

He thinks, peeking a look over his shoulder at his companion. Slowly he makes his way over to a niche in the wall, covered lightly by a curtain, and pulls a giant orange hoodie out of a haphazard stack of clothes. It's not an ugly orange, though; like, it's a sunset orange. A nice pretty sunset-y orange. Releasing another slow breath, Hanzo returns to Duna's side and hands the hoodie to her. "If you'd like to come. It's... very cold, where we're going."

"Where is it we are going?" Already on board. Hanzo's heart warms.

He cups his face with a hand, squints at the map in his head. "Frozen Wastes. Apparently Torner and his new friend are traversing the blizzards, at night, not wearing nearly enough layers, because the friend decided she wanted to fight the BN Brigade after some sort of terrorist attack that involved..." His gaze narrows further. "Killing a piano."

Duna's magenta eyes widen. "I did not know it was possible to kill a piano."

"Yeah, me neither." Straightening with a start, Hanzo turns back to his alcove and pulls out a number of thick clothes, clearly too small to be in his size. Before his dinaurian friend can ask, he murmurs, "I just... keep them, in case Torner ever needs them. Just... y'know, in case..." He's staring at a corner of the room. "After our aunt and uncle put him in the program, I just... figured it'd be safe to buy some... I-I mean, I have more than enough money to do so..."

A tiny smile addresses her face. "You are a good brother, Hanzo. Heh... it reminds me of... my brother, a little." Her expression has softened, her eyes reaching toward him yet still... curtained over, as if afraid. Afraid to conjure her words, to bring them to life. "Raptin is—was... very kind to me. But very, ahah... very shy about showing it." Her eyes shine as she voices him, even if in such a tiny way, back into existence. And even though they are on a time crunch and Hanzo is literally watching his brother's little location dot dip into an arctic river, and who knows if he's still conscious, he is so smitten by Duna's shimmering gaze that he can't tell her to stop.

He gets to listen to her talk all about her brother with her face all animated and eyes all bright while he drives his dirt-munching buggy down the mountain. It would probably be very unsafe to do this if he hadn't done it so many times before, and even so he slips like three times, but hey, it's fine, nobody's dead except _maybe his brother_.

Hanzo steps the gas pedal to the floor.

…

Torner is not dead yet, but he sure feels like he is.

He stares long and hard out the window, like it means anything, his face crushed into fierce concentration. His vivosaurs have been commentating on the gradual shifting of his expression to sheer terror as the ride has gone on, and he kind of hates them for it. The worst part about it is that it's funny, like, _really_ funny, and it makes him laugh, and he hates laughing at himself. Cuz, uh, cuz he's _not_ funny, he's cooler... than... than that. He—He _is_ though...

Every once in a while Mei Lan will go something something heat signature something nearby, and then they will fall off a cliff or dip into the river in an attempt to follow, promptly losing their something something heat signature. Torner knows he is worse at driving buggies, but he still wishes he was the one doing the driving cuz Mei Lan really _sucks_ at this. Like, seriously though, she's older than him and she's making more mistakes than he did the first time.

 _Yeah,_ Lysandre, the ever-present devil's advocate, reminds her warden, _but you also listened to me the entire ride. And I knew the path much better than almost anyone in this living world. But I don't know this path, and—Honestly, Torner, you need to stop insulting people every time they make a singular mistake. Did you know that calling others out for every little thing makes them like you less? Did you_ know _that it's very easy to lose friends when you treat them like they're worse off than you?_

Torner bites his lip as his face blurts red. Slowly, regretfully, he turns to glare at the view out the windshield. Mei Lan has returned to her painstaking trek up the side of some new mountain.

If there is no other solace, then at least she chose the really ugly giant buggy that can tank hits like freaking Hanzo tanks the blue shells in Mario Kart. Ahhh—Hanzo. He really hopes Hanzo has already saved the day cuz this is getting really tiring, but so far the buggy hasn't detected any wardens in range. But that would... make sense... since Red Fang and whatever the other one was called have to deal with the dead piano, and all, and who knows where everyone else is.

"Hey Mei Lan? You should, you should like turn _into the cliff_ and move maybe slower to keep from, uh, from falling off again."

His purple-haired companion pinks, and mutters, "You can't possibly know how to do this better than me," then wordlessly follows his advice. She doesn't fall again, even though Torner's advice probably shouldn't work, since it's Torner's and all, and finally the duo reaches the top of the fjord. Mei Lan forces the buggy into park and throws a quick look at the dizzying drop, pouring down into endless dark icy menace.

Torner, staring over her shoulder, goes, "This looks like a video game I played," and Mei Lan's chilly facade suddenly snaps as she falls into unalienable, unstoppered laughter.

"A video game?" She presses a freakishly pale hand to her cheek. "It sounds not fun at all."

"Actually," Torner huffs, "it is the funnest game in the universe." But then he pauses and thinks about it. "Actually it's pretty good but I hate the ending. It's like this game where you're on these titans, which are like Earth but sleeping humans, and then at the end your sword was actually a god and he, he like tries to kill you but you're already dead, and then you beat him up and live in peace without gods.

Staring into the abyss of his own mind, the thirteen-year-old coughs. "It's fun, I guess. But uh, there are funner games."

Somehow this... tiny smile buds over Mei Lan's cold gaze. It melts, if ever slightly. "Like what?"

"Like—oooooh this game called kirby came out and I need to, I need to play it when I get home..." Torner gets a little too into it, and he feels it happening, but Mei Lan doesn't tell him to shut up. She... _doesn't_. "It's _really cute_ and you throw hearts at enemies and they become your friends. And it's _fun_ and _cute_ and multiplayer and, and it makes me feel better about my life."

"Ahahhh..." His new friend gazes, smiling faintly, at the distant horizon. It's dark enough that they can make out stars shimmering in the nexus of space, a sort of haze knitted around them—oh the northern lights. Oh that's _cool_. Like a video game, except in real life. "That, um... does sound fun. Who are you playing it with?"

Torner sputters. "Nnnnh—No one?" Right, he didn't ask Leon or Nate, b-because well first of all warden problems but also it's cute pink game, and...  
cute pink game...

And _then_ Torner realizes what she's asking, because it turns out he's not as big of an idiot as everyone thought he was. "Oh! Uh. I mean." Steadily, carefully, Mei Lan starts up the buggy, plowing it forward through banks of thick snow. "You can... you can play it with me if you, I mean if you _want_ you could but like... like..." He forces himself quiet for once. "You don't like _have_ to or anything." And because of it, his voice totally fractures. How... embarrassing.

She just lets out a breath and goes, "It sounds fun," in this weird ambiguous way that makes it really hard for Torner to tell if she means yes or no.

Torner assumes yes, because Torner is being a scrub right now, and he needs some new friends.

In an effort to keep her talking, Torner stares into his head for something, anything... anything at all. "Sooo... have you ever, uh, beat up a bad guy before?"

Hmm. Good enough.

"Yes?" Her tongue swipes along her lip. "Sort of. My dad—uh, Liu Ren—he's like, like my dad, like he _named_ me and Lei One, but not my biological dad. But—But anyways, he found some when we were out doing things one time, and we followed, and I wanted to beat him up but my dad wouldn't let me. He said we shouldn't, like, inflict pain on our enemies, cuz that makes us just as bad as them."

Torner blinks. "That is the most profound thing I've heard in all my life."

"Ahaha, yeah! My dad's probably the smartest person in the universe."

"Then why's he working for the wardens?"

"Oh." That stops her. She grovels through the mist of white only to meet the shadows beyond, and a scowl darkens her expression. "I dunno. If _I_ was smart, I'd go like make a company of my own and get a bunch of money, then donate it to a charity." Her lip quirks. "But I'm not smart, so here we are now."

But, wait... "Doesn't that make you smart for coming up with it, though? That sounds, like, pretty awesome. You could, like, fix Nomadistan's economy or something."

"But I'm not acting on it." Mei Lan shrugs, and that's the end of it. "Your... parents? Aren't they like the people who own that clothing line?"

Torner totally forgot they existed, whoa. "Oh, they're my aunt and uncle, actually."

"Ohhhhh." Mei Lan snorts. "Yeah, Sasuke acts way more like them than you and your brother do... Nnnh, I feel like I'm gonna end like those kindsa people, if anything. I'll get all this money from being Cool Warden Girl and then waste it on stupid things like Stryker, and maybe a boyfriend I don't deserve, who I end up marrying because it's all I've got going for me, and all. You know? I feel like that sometimes, like I'll just sort of end up living a mediocre life and never knowing... true happiness."

She releases a hard breath.

Wait, whoa. What just..?

Torner stares in shock at the young lady by his side. Her small, faint grin still visibly etched across her lips, her brows quirked in this perpetual sort of happy-surprise, cheeks flushed with color, or maybe it's makeup.

Either way, she pulls it off.

"I... man, I get you." Torner drags a hand over his face and allows shadow to cast over him. "I wonder about that too. Like... what am I even good for? Can't seem to do anything right. I'm only here because my aunt and uncle literally bribed Stryker, zero percent talent of my own. All I do is take up space and other people's pancakes, and I guess I play video games too, but like, what's the point of anything? What's the meaning of my—"

Finally Lysandre breaks in: _Kiddos, kiddos, calm down, you haven't finished—or perhaps even hit—your puberty yet._

As the buggy slops into a hole neither of them saw coming and unceremoniously gets stuck, the two tumble into soft, then stronger, then ever stronger laughter, the kind of laughter that comes out sardonic, sort of self-deprecating, mostly just _hard_ and _loud_ and all-consuming. And vaguely... warm. Their breaths fog against the windshield and Mei Lan recovers enough to turn up the dial for the heater.

"I mean"—she tries between breaths—"I mean you're _right_ , I guess, but this is also when my life _starts_ , and if I screw up now, then I might screw up everything I have to live for... and, and all... Y-You'd be surprised how much pressure they put on us _kiddos_."

Torner rolls his eyes. "I, I mean, yeah. You see how people treat me! What am I supposed to do with myself now? I'm pretty much screwed!"

"Yeah! And I think, on top of it all, I think we're double screwed, because we are most definitely _lost_!" Mei Lan's face crashes into her hands as she cries out in a way that might actually be utter sobbing, as Torner's head sinks into the back of his chair and hate-his-life tears fill his trembling leafy gaze.

Gremaine, unaccustomed to either person in the state they are currently in, stays put in his corner of the buggy. Lysandre, however, the undeserved mom she is, plops onto the dashboard and goes, _Everyone please chill out. I have an idea, and I think if you listen to my idea we'll all survive the night and most likely not end up living mediocre lives._

Both of the children are crying, and it's entirely impossible to tell how much of it is self-pity.

Lysandre groans into her maw. _Mei Lan's vivosaurs, are any of you remotely useful._

 _Yeah, she has me,_ randomly voices one before howling into chortles. _I'm just kidding, she hates my guts._

 _She hates all of our guts,_ adds another one, and Lysandre promptly sits on Mei Lan's lap in order to take the wheel.

She snags the driving manual from under the seat, recalling it from a certain other time a certain prepubescent boy got himself utterly lost, and slaps it onto the gas pedal, propelling the vehicle forward. After securing her position, she motions her feathered raptor friend over and positions his clawed paws onto the wheel. _Okay, stay here and drive for me._ Then she promptly opens up the window and flops out of it, directing Gremaine to shut it for her.

Finally, the lythro stretches back into her full-on size, her giant spiny body leaving massive dents in the snow as she darts before the bone buggy. Her muzzle erupts with flames Torner did not know she had as she directs through the darkness a steady path forward, reminding Gremaine here and there to keep following the heat signature.

At some point, both of the children must've fallen asleep, because by the time Torner is shaken by his lythro the buggy's facing this edgy cavern. He stares at Mei Lan, who's slowly yawning and rubbing at her face, then back at his lythro, who goes, _I did this almost completely on my own._

Torner stares at her. _You are amazing._  
Either because he's half asleep or actually in a good mood, this is the first time he's ever given Lysandre a compliment. She stares back at him, her multicolored gaze kind of empty in shock.

And then promptly, like the last thing they needed, like the eleventh hour hero of a video game, down slams a bone buggy directly by their side.

Torner's tracker _bip_ s on. His brother's voice flows through. "Are you hurt."

"Hbuhhhh?" He blinks, blearily. "Hanzo?"

"Tell me where the monster who hurt you is and I will destroy them in a very un-ninja-like manner, just for you."

Torner's still blinking. "Whhaaa?"

"All I ask is you let me know where they lie in the shadows, so that I might pursue."

"Uhhh... Just in the cave, but I think it's okay, cuz... cuz my lythro literally drove us here, so she's clearly capable enough to..."—a yawn punctures his sentence—"...to help us stop the guys."

Static crackles on the other end, slowly bridged as the voice grows louder, closer. Torner can faintly detect his brother muttering something above the noise. Then it dies down. "Well open the doors to your buggy, please. I brought you and your friend a change of clothes."

"Oh..." Torner's eyes have magically gone and faced Mei Lan, who's trying to piece together his conversation from just Torner's half. He tries to think of something that'll really confuse her. "Cool. Thanks, Mom."

"Torner?" But Hanzo... pauses, catches it, and then holds onto it, cradles it in his strong older-brother grip. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"Wuh?"

Hanzo's gone so... quiet. "I'm sorry our parents weren't so great, I'm sorry they dumped us onto our aunt and uncle... I'm sorry mom went bankrupt and dad to jail after they decided they'd rather support drugs than kids with what they had, I'm sorry they gave us so little, I'm sorry you had such a bad childhood, I'm—"

"What the—Geeeeeez, Hanzo. What the heck. I thought our parents just hated us or something." And like... he didn't have a bad childhood, right? He ate pancakes and played video games!  
Well. Okay, it would've been nicer if his older brother were around more, but it's not like he's gonna say that _now_ to poor grief-stricken Hanzo.

A short silence, like Hanzo's struggling to say it. "I mean... that's basically what it was. You were... still so young at the time... so..."

"Uh... well... uh..."

Hanzo remembers where he is. "Ri-Right. I have clothes. I'll be there in a minute. You sit tight, and then we can go in and I'll destroy the guy."

"Uh. Okay."

Then Hanzo lurches to their buggy through the storm—Duna following in this way too big sweater thing—and Torner and Mei Lan take turns dressing in the back of their buggy. Once equipped, still shivering their butts off, the whole lot of them leave their buggies behind and stumble on into the cave.

Bumping against his companion, Torner mutters, "Nnghg I hate how cold it is out heeeereee..." He angrily scoops up Lysandre, and that helps a little.

Mei Lan, realizing, snags the lythro's front paw and holds it tightly. Her teeth chatter less. "Ye-Yeah, well of course the BN guy hid in a cave too small for buggies to fit into... Ma-Maaaan, hh-hhhhow did he even fi-find this place? And—And ge-ge-gegeg _-get_ here?"

"Oh! Ah..." Duna's hands clump into the front pocket of her jacket. Despite the cold dark dankness of the cave, her hair catches a breeze and it looks unfairly stunning. "We saw a disposed, um... buggy? We saw one near the cave... on the way to finding you. So that could have been theirs? It appeared to be a stolen warden buggy, a-at the very least..." Duna sighs, but it sounds weirdly content coming from her. "Ahah... we got a little bit lost on the way here, so that is why it took so long to find you..."

"Yeuup," Hanzo mutters, "couldn't freaking track you til you'd stopped moving."

Torner stares at the ground, his heart dancing in his chest.

It takes a disproportionately short amount of time to locate the curled-up dude at the end of the cave, tightly clutching this vivosaur with way too many spines on its body. He's got this edgy mask with red eyeholes on his face, and—and is that a black cloak? Dude. He's like Leon if Leon became a bad guy.

The man, realizing he's been more or less cornered, painfully stands. It turns out that attached to his gloved hands are giant blades. Torner feels his heart crawling up his throat. "Oh, _great_. Looks like you caught me. Well that sucks. Too bad I already destroyed all the uncharted documents I'd found."

"What documents?" Torner blurts before anyone else gets a chance to process what the guy said.

"Uh... the ones I stole? Remember?"

Everyone shares looks with each other. Nobody remembers.

"Augh, whatever." The guy carefully runs a hand through his long, black hair. "I guess the distraction wasn't good enough, huh."

"Ohhhh!" Mei Lan blurts before anyone else catches on. "You mean that the guy who killed the piano was the distraction! _Ohhh_ , we thought we were following _him_!"

The guy stares at everyone in this weird horror. "Wow. We freaking suck at this, then."

Duna's eyes momentarily brighten and she goes, "Ye-Yes! You do suck, for... being... mean!" She stands up straight and begins to pull off her sweater, to the guy's shock.

"Why are you pulling off your—"

"M-My name is Duna, and in the name of King Dynal, dinaurian ruler, I sh-shall apprehend you for your cruelties!"

The guy pales. "We-Well _my_ name is Karl, and I don't know what a freaking _dinoran_ is."

She flinches. "Die-nah-re-an. D-Do not pronounce it that way, that is..." Shudders.

Hanzo suddenly draws his scarf higher around his face for apparently no reason at all. Then he straightens and asks, once he realizes he's accidentally drawn everyone's attention, "What did you want with those uncharted documents anyhow?"

"Well..." Karl must decide that he has nothing to lose, so he answers. "Boss got news that Stryker was building another teleporter-thing to try and detect our location, with some old blueprints from I don't remember where, so we were like, oop, that's no good. So I snagged 'em. Honestly, y'all should be _thanking_ me, though, cuz he was gonna waste like a billion moneys on that piece of junk."

"Oh." Everyone's facing Hanzo again. He adjusts his scarf a second time. His eyes dart to Duna, who's in the middle of pulling her hoodie back on. "I mean... you're right. We should be thanking you. Uh..." The ninja presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and mutters, "Did you have to kill that piano, though?"

It suddenly hits Torner—when his brother's eyes meet his—that everyone's using that expression because of him. His face blurts red.

Karl... stares at them. "No, we probably didn't have to... kill that piano..."

"It was an expensive piano," Hanzo adds, then he flinches. "Wait, no. I have a better idea. I'll get onto Stryker for nearly wasting billions on a faulty project and convince him to use some of _that_ allotted money on a new piano.

And then Torner's brother _bows_ to the stinky BR Brigade guy. "Thank you for halting our idiot leader's progress. I believe that we shall keep our meeting a secret to said idiot leader, so long as you keep our, ah, accidental letting you slip by a secret to the public."

"Oh, uh, thanks?" Karl slumps. "I was kind of hoping you'd take me in, though, since I kind of don't have a ride back."

And so they all ride to Midell and drop off Karl at the edge of the city.


	18. Things Get Surprisingly Chill

Backwoods

18: Things Get Surprisingly Chill

Once he's had a long, hard deliberation—and his considerably weighty, spiny lythro sits on his chest—Torner finally slumps out of bed. He awkwardly unruffles his boxers and kind of covers his shirt with them out of this inexplicable shame, even though nobody else can see them. But then he remembers, wait, and covers them a little more.

It's the freaking dinosaur ones, the pink dinosaur ones he pretends he doesn't love with all of his being.

Once he's spiked up his hair with that cheap-smelling hair gel, like a scrub, Torner steps into the living space of his more or less home. And that is where all the people are. Mei Lan is sprawled out over his couch, snoring faintly. Hanzo and Duna found extra cots somewhere in the storage room and have fallen into a heavy, unshakable sleep ever since.

All of them, just... hanging out at Torner's place. Taking up his, uh, space, for video games, and... stuff. O-Okay, _yeah_ , everyone was tired, and that's why they're all here, but...  
It makes him feel weirdly popular, which is a feeling he hasn't, uh, felt much before.

Lysandre, by his feet, chortles. As if _she_ knows the feeling of _pop_ ul _ar_ ity, huh.  
Her silly sidekick, Gremaine shortly follows. After a long moment, Torner plops himself down on the couch; he doesn't get much of the cushion since Mei Lan's feet are chilling behind him.

Dang it, why's she on the _couch_ in the first place—

Ohhh wait, wait. Torner envisions a hazy memory of carrying the pale, willowy girl into his stupid room, since she'd fallen asleep in the buggy—and she was all cute with this sleepy face— _uh._

Now to stop thinking about that. Well, whatever. Torner's gonna play his NS now, and literally nothing's gonna stop him.

Next, of course, something does stop him. A knock, _PON_ , hard and concise at his door.

Well. Just his luck, Torner can only imagine one person who would knock like that. But he's not yelling through the door, so maybe it'll be okay. Or maybe he's _waiting to unleash his pure volcanic rage when Torner's face is right in front of his, to feel the full force of fury._

It takes sheer force of will and Lysandre's gentle urging to get the thirteen-year-old off the couch, up to the door, and to pull the weight outward. He does it with the hesitance of someone breaching another dimension, or maybe more like the guy everyone knows is about to die in every horror game ever. Bright, wide green eyes fleck upward nervously, only the warden chief behind it actually doesn't rip his head off.

Wait. Is he smiling?

Okay Torner. Time to wake up.

Then Torner doesn't wake up and he's forced to consider the fact that maybe Stryker's face _can_ smile. Like, genuinely, like, contort itself into some authentic revelation of _happiness_. Happiness? Would Stryker know the word if it stood up and hugged him?

He swallows the sensation as fear drips down his spine. "Wh-Whatcha doin' here, S-Stryker?" Okay, alright, that wasn't so bad. He literally sounds like the Elmo on Sesame Street but but it _could've_ been worse. His head is still intact, after all.

When the warden chief indicates for the junior warden—practically his tiny teenaged minion—to step back, Torner reluctantly does so, allowing Stryker's uptight presence to envelop the chamber. Also he gets to see not one but three people sleeping in Torner's room, which isn't as many as last time but is still kind of a prominent thing to have continue.

Which reminds Torner of the last time, when Stryker literally chucked him across the room.

 _Yikes_.

"Good morning." Torner's jumpy gaze falls back upon the warden chief. Man, he's so tall. Torner wishes he was that tall. Well, unless being tall means he has a bad temper like Stryker does. Wait, that doesn't make sense. "I came to congratulate you on your prestigious achievements of the day before.

Torner feels his body slowly churning into ice. This giant, awkward smile expands all over his expression. He pointedly stares at his NS in perpetual longing. "It has come to my attention that _you_ just about single-handedly tracked and caught a high-ranking officer of the foul Blacknycto Brigade." Rubbing his frozen fingers together, Torner shares a long, perplexed look with his lythro, then one with Hanzo's snoozing form. Neither offers much help.

Stryker coughs, magically drawing all eyes to him once more. In the gleaming light of the late afternoon, syrupy sunshine has embraced the warden chief, smoothing his harsh edges and illuminating his straightened, pristine figure such that he almost appears... attractive, until Torner actively cannot disentangle his mind of the yelly thing.

"Torner, I must say I am wonderfully impressed by your merit. I did not expect you to behave so... unabashedly, so _nobly_ , especially in this moment of true strife." Oh, yes, as opposed to regular strife. "I suppose it is that strife that reveals the gold in the hearts of some shy men such as yourself."

 _And women,_ Lysandre adds. Stryker mutters something about that being implied and somehow it helps Torner find the confidence to blurt:

"How d'you even _know_ about last night?!"

Torner, suddenly the whole, encompassing attention of a man as bright as the freaking sun, shoves his shirt over his boxers entirely. And steadily, his dark eyes gleaming, the chief continues. "Your brother reported after your mission, of course. After every mission, a group member is supposed to find mey r, so that I may record their endeavors. Well, I usually enforce that _all_ members report in the likely case that someone will lie, but..." His eyes methodically follow a needlessly intricate path to Hanzo, now also snoring, his face flat against the cot. "I know better than to not trust _his_ word."

Wow, that's unbelievably ironic.

"Buh—But what about Mei Lan," Torner squeaks—

"Ohhh, yes, yes. I heard she performed well, but that is nothing new for Mei Lan. Truly, if her performance was average, I would be disappointed in her." Torner suddenly feels so _hard_ for that _poor_ girl. "She... drove, some of the time, and assisted in the capture of the officer, yes? Although I am far more impressed by the masterful control you hold over your vivosaurs."

Torner shares a second look with Lysandre, who snorts loudly.

"Ahh..." Stryker lets out a breath, like the whole ordeal actually moves him. "It was stunning. I am only utterly lost in how _Hanzo_ is the one who slipped up and let the man fall through our fingers. How ridiculous! Hanzo is _much_ better than that. He knows so _much_ better than that. But...

Suddenly the chief's voice lowers. "Just... between you and me, he told me he found out something from that dirty brigade's man that I cannot repeat here, so I... suppose I will have to let this misconduct slide."

It's kind of endearing how little Stryker knows about his own wardens. Most specifically the fact that Torner was literally there when Karl told everyone about his fun, burnt, uncharted documents.  
Like, literally all of them where there. What the heck did Hanzo tell him to make it appear freaking otherwise.

...Huh. From the way Stryker speaks of him, it appears Hanzo didn't tell the chief Karl's name. To... protect... him?

 _Huh_.

So uh, Torner should do that too. And also _not_ let Stryker know that he already knows about the chief's embarrassing money problems. Of course, Torner would already know, since he was bribed into the organization and all.

Low key, Torner gets it though. Torner also suffers from a multitude of embarrassing problems.

He sucks in a breath and, and he runs through his mind thinking of what to say now, but he's in his favorite pair of boxers, speaking with the man who threw him across the room one time, and it's somehow really... just really hard.

"That's uh, that's great." He swallows. The very air tastes underwhelming.

Maybe Stryker tastes it too, or maybe Torner has lost his very mind, or maybe Stryker's just a busy man. But he proffers a gloved hand to the junior warden half his height, and he states his fine goodbyes in his weird, fancy dialect, and without further ado the warden chief shuts the door primly behind him.

Exhausted, Torner collapses onto his couch. It is not until afterwards that it occurs to him he may have sat upon what certainly feels like someone else's feet.

"Hnnnghhh..."

All of the air in his lungs is an entangled ball within his throat. Like a—Like a bomb, like it's so _pressurized_ it'll like ex _plode_ if—

"Tor...rhhhghh..."

In an effort to hold his feelings tightly between his hands, Torner picks at the gunk beneath his nails. It could be anything. He plays a guessing game trying to figure out what it could be, and none of the answers are appealing, and soon Torner is too disgusted with himself to continue. He stares, painfully, at his lythro, who huffs on her cushion beside him.

But of course, as it does, the day continues on, with or without Torner in tow.

A yawn punctures the nigh-silence of the chamber. Mumbling again, and then gently the voice sculpts into actual words. "Tornerrrr, you're sitting on me, aren't youuuuu..."

Lysandre gives him this subtle glare. _You must be daft_.

 _I must be._ Torner promptly scooches off of Mei Lan's feet. Such delicate, white feet. Torner hasn't even hit growth spurt yet and his feet are larger than hers.

Clearing her throat, the lythro adds, _That is, if you hit your growth spurt. At the rate you're going, I wouldn't be surprised if you shrunk into a shriveled, old hag by your eighteenth birthday._ Torner's heart seizes in his chest and he won't respond to anything until Lysandre reluctantly chuckles: _I'm kidding, you. Well... probably._ And it really doesn't help matters, but Lysandre's a butt a- _any_ ways.

"Uhhhh..." Mei Lan peers through the din of arguing vivosaur and prepubescent boy. "Maaan, what time is it? Where am I, anyways?"

Torner stiffens. For the first time in months, he sits up straight. He pointedly glares at the blank startup screen on his NS. "My _room_. It's all your fault though."

He won't continue until the groggy girl mutters, " _My_ fault?"

As if on its own, Torner's chest puffs out, filled with self-righteousness. " _Yes_ ," he seethes through his teeth. But it's the slippery self-righteousness he's trying so hard to cling to. "Yes, cuz _you_ fell asleep on the way home, and I don't freaking _know_ where your bed is, so I had to _shove_ you in here with _everyone_ else."

"Uh..." She snorts, her lip curling into a thin smile. "You're moody today. _Geez_ , if it bothered you so much, I'm pretty sure Hanzo knows my room number. He could've just dropped me off, or something. Or even, like... left me with my brother..." Her brows raise to pointed little spears. "I get the feeling that you didn't make a fuss about things last night. So why _now_ , hmmmm?"

" _Yeah_ , well," Torner grunts, switching tactics, "I was _tired_. But now you're mad at me, and I sat on your feet, and stuff."

Mei Lan blinks at him, her face the haze of a sleepwalker. Sleeptalker? "What did I do, pee in your cereal? You're really freaking moody today. And uh..." She gives one glance to her particularly unharmed toes. "I'm... fine? You're fine? Aren't we all just... fine?

She chuckles. "Torner, what's the real problem here?"

Torner stares forcefully at the television. To himself, it appears he is concentrating too hard on waiting for his new game to download to have heard Mei Lan speaking, even though she is right next to him. Things just... work that way. That's right.

"It's like watching a game of chess."  
A lithe tone, momentarily light, falls upon the two.  
And then it twists into a sharp, targeted point.  
"The only difference is that Torner's using a handful of your pieces, and he's been playing without his king the entire game in a pathetic, painstaking effort to keep you from checkmating him whatsoever."

A loud sound follows Torner's chucking his controller onto the floor. "SHHHHHHUT UP, HANZO."

"You must be hungry or something, kiddo—"

"NNNGGGHHO I'M NOT, YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT ME YOU BIG FREAKING BULLY BROTHER—"

Hanzo loudly claps his hands. He flushes when everyone looks at him, like he hadn't considered the consequences prior to action. Facing a spot on Torner's shoulder—a little quirk his younger brother has gotten used to by now—Hanzo stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Yes, so. Let's all be rational here. Probably get food, since I doubt either of you have eaten at the very least since, ah, prior to the incident with Karl."

And calmly the ninja stands.

Then he leans against the wall and moans something about standing up too fast.

His quiet green eyes dance between the two children, landing affirmatively upon the sleeping dinaurian at his feet. Finally, Hanzo bows. "I will return with healthy alternatives to, ah, nothing." And just like that he's gone, swift as a nin—oh right.

Torner's face all scrunches inward. "Hrrnnnnghhh..."

Mei Lan pulls her legs up to her chest. "What's... up?" She rolls her placid gaze. "You're even more moody than I am, dude. Hanzo... isn't wrong, this is getting a little pathetic."

"I'm just mad," says Torner, in the most casual way he can imagine himself saying it.

His friend's brow furrows. "And why is that?"

"Cuz Hanzo never spends time with me and stuff."

"Oh. Huh." Mei Lan scoots over to him and pats his side, in this weird, meticulous way like she's never comforted someone before. "Well, that's awkward, because I can't give any good advice when it comes to sucky older brothers. Mine is kind of the worst, and all. I'm sure you _knowwww_." Giggling to herself, she rolls her eyes.

" _Buh,_ " sputters Torner. "I thought Lei One was kinda cool."

Calmly, Mei Lan tips her head forwards. She runs her fingers through her wave of purple hair and begins nimbly tying it up in a style that Torner recognizes as her Mickey Mouse ears. Her face has shifted into a mask of cool concentration. "Yeah, _Lei One_ doesn't even go by the name his dad gave him.

Her eyes drift up to Torner as she braids. "My dad's dead, right? I mean my actual one. Liu Ren's like a family friend..." She can't keep it together. Sinks a little into the couch, gets her fingers tucked into a ribbon. Carefully slings half of her hair into one upright circle. "It's just annoying, because Lei One's totally annoying, and he won't honor Dad or Liu Ren or anyone with his dumb attitude. I mean... at least Hanzo's _cool_ , right? I'd rather have a cool brother who does things I can be proud of, even if I don't see him often... than a dumb, wimpy brother who can't even fight his own shadow."

"Oh, uh...

Torner drops his eyes too. "Well now I feel bad..."

"Nhhh-no! No, no no, you don't need to feel bad, just..." Mei Lan finishes with her hair and leaves it, suspended. "Remember that other people have feelings too? And that... you can't... pretend your problems are the only ones that exist?"

Torner pouts. "And now I feel worse..."

Mei Lan pouts too. "Then get a hold of yourself, you... weirdo."

"Hnneehhhh."

She sticks out her tongue and quickly, almost happily, Torner follows suit.

His eyes fly back to the television's screen when a cheery little _blip_ fills the room. "Yyyyes it finished downloading." Snagging one of his controllers, Torner throws it at his new partner in crime and does not even blink when she watches it hit the ground. Just like Nate, wonderful.

Oh hey speaking of Nate.

Torner unmutes his tracker only to be blasted by the notification that _oh goody_ he's been thrown into a voice chat with none other than the overly-excitable pink-haired boy himself.

Nate's recorded voice leaps at him: "Duuuuuuuude I just saw _Stryker_ leave your room! Whaaat? Did he yell? Are you okay? Do I—Do I need to get Penny and like cheer you up or something? Maaan I know the feel, Stryker's a spooky duder dudo. So um..." His nervous pause fills Torner's ear... and his heart. "Let me know if you need anything, aight? I know you got back superly duperly late n' all so just... check in with me?"

And _then_ it turns out Torner's been put in a group voice chat with Nate _and_ Leon. His brooding punk other role model speaks after Nate's message times out: "Hey, yeah, same with, uh... Ditto. Yeup. Tell us the deets, little dude."

Somehow it is just as heartwarming as Nate's.

Mei Lan nudges him, returning the boy to the world in front of him. "What'dya do? You like... spaced out there."

"Oh uh. I saw I got messages from people."

"Awwww, _I_ want messages from other people!"

Torner snorts. "It's just your brother and also Nate."

"Ewww my brother and also Naaaaaate."

He chuckles... off to himself. "I, um, _I_ like them, at least."

"Well... whatever. What'd they say?"

Torner returns to it, his finger fumbling with the tracker. "Ooh, gimme a second to send out a responssse..."

He tries to do it all quick and clandestine, but somehow he feels like he's given it away the second he hits **RECORD**. Maybe that's just him, the freaking scrub that he is.

Ah well.

His friend jumps right onto him. "Why'd you say you were sick?"

"Hrbrbh because I'll see them _later_ I don't have to invite them over right _now_ I mean _you're_ here right now so—"

"Ooooooooohhh now I'm speeciaalllllllll~"

Torner tries to act all cool. "Yeah, well... well if you talk like that, I'll send you fart jokes on your tracker!"

"PFFFF—" Mei Lan slaps a hand over her face and moans, "noooooooo, not _fart jokes_ ," into her hands, more than once, two or three times, each more exasperated than the last.

Thankfully, before Torner says any other nonsense stupid things, his brother returns with actual vegetables. Torner almost convinces himself that self-starvation is the right way to go, but unfortunately, he finds out that vegetables don't taste bad.

And so it begins.


	19. Another Day, Another Chance at Failure

Backwoods

19: Another Day, Another Chance at Failure

It takes two tries. Two tries until Torner manages to wedge his foot into the crack of his door, then force it open with the very vested strength of his toes, and _then_ quickly saunter through before it shuts again, like it did last time, when he didn't think this through all the way.

But no matter. Now, Torner has thought this through all the way. He is a total master.

Valiantly, with the exhausted, triumphant aura of a man who has saved a kingdom from preternatural destruction—exactly like a video game—he slaps himself down on his couch. Humming thoughtfully, his NS continues to run where he left off—his photo album. It's full of his wins. Wins? Actually, yeah, a week's worth of them.

Five. Five videos of Torner barely, miraculously scraping by in his ARMS game that he so desperately wants to become a video game champion of.

He's, uh, he's doing his best, he thinks to himself before finally placing the box in his hands on the couch cushion beside him. Torner inhales a long, pleasant inhale as he lifts the cover of the box with every inkling of grace left in his soul.

The cheesy, greasy, hot smell of pizza swallows up the chamber.

Lysandre, who had to scoot to make room on her cushion for this, gives the upended box a long stare. Her face is all twisted up in one of her grimaces. _What even is this?_

Her fighter, who expected as much, nods solemnly. _Only the greatest invention of our time._

 _That's..._ Lysandre blinks, her amber-green gaze sparking. _That doesn't even answer my question, Torne—_

But before the lythro has wrangled an answer to her question, a body slams against the door to Torner's room. Through the grain, a muffled voice pours through: "Torrnerrrrrrrrrrrrr... Gaahhh, _ungh_ , duuuude I _smell_ ittttt... _How_..." He gasps, perhaps for the drama, perhaps not. "Howww did you get a _pizza_ in here? Stryker... Stryker _hates_ it when we make contact with the... with the out... the _outssss_ iiiiide... You... Are you even real..." And what resembles sobbing breaks down from the other side.

A guilty thirteen-year-old gets up to let the weeping Nate in. Somehow in the past ten seconds the cheery lad has transformed into someone who forgot who they are. It's at this point where even his pink, curly hair has lost its floppy charm.

"Uh..." Torner's eyes fly into the pizza box, where he counts the six remaining slices. His mouth waters. "D-D'you want a couple?"

Nate moans. He sounds like he hasn't eaten in months, even though that's _impossible_.

"Y-You can't eat all of them! If you do I-I won't tell you how I did it!"

A gasp emerges like a sucker punch to the stomach. "Plleaaaaa _aaaaaaaa_ se Torner! _Teach_ me your ways! Please please pleeeaaaaaaaaaaa—"

Torner, suddenly very nervous, darts over to the couch. With a hand he gently swipes the pizza box shut. "O-Okay! But..."

Suddenly it occurs to him that telling Nate what he did might get both of them in trouble.  
What if Nate tells Penny, and Penny tells Roland, and then Roland snitches.

Torner feels as if his life has fallen out of his hands. He sits there, numb, staring at the television's glazed screen. His reflection, though warped, is faintly staring back at him. He tries to ask himself, his warped self, what he should do, to absolutely no avail.

"Well, uh..." He's, he's gotta think about this. " _Han_ zo told me the code, cuz there's a _code_ you can use to disable Stryker's restrictions! Then you can call whoever you want and use a GPS not connected to the freaking dig sites and stuff!" Only the more Torner babbles, the more he forgets not to be specific. "And _then_ , then you go through the list and contact the pizza place!

Breathing heavily, Torner feels his chest puff out. "Hanzo said you can just use Stryker's credit card number, which he gave me! It's fouuur threee foouur siiiiix eighh—" He breaks off into a cough and dodges the sucker punch of telling Nate exactly what Stryker's credit card number is.

"So, so you use Stryker's credit card number, you snag a buggy that looks like it hasn't been used in awhile, and then you drive to the pizza place! But—But you _have_ to make sure you get it at least an hour before dinner! If you don't, then Stryker...

Torner breathes. Tries to think himself out of this. Oh, but it's _so_ funny... ahhhh it wouldn't hurt to say, would it? Hanzo only said don't tell anybody, he didn't say don't tell Nate. "If you don't, that's how Stryker busts you! Or, uh, one of the ways he could. There's a lot! But then—if you get the pizza before dinner and show it to Stryker immediately, _then_ if you give him two slices he lets you go!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nate falls to the floor in disillusioned shock. "IT WAS THAT SIMPLE!"

"It's not that simple," Torner mutters.

"BUT IT IS!" Nate covers his face and howls into his freckled hands, his bright blue eyes streaming. "All I ever needed... ALL I NEEDED! ALL I NEEDED WAS TO BE BORN HANZO'S YOUNGER BROTHER!" He pauses, musing. "Or to have Hanzo's brother. Do you mind kidnapping?"

"Wuh—"

"Naaaaaaah, I'm jokin', boyo, I don't mean that." A soft giggle from the teen who is literally lying on the floor right now. "Anyways, anyways, that's some serious biz, duuuude! That's amazing. I am, I am so jealous. Wow. Please gimme a slice. I literally haven't eaten pizza since Stryker stole mine."

Torner, a touch of pity softening his twisted child heart, gently opens up the box once more. A waft of delicious, delicate heat smears his face.

Strengthened by the sight of his prize, Nate manages to butt-scoot himself over to the couch and gratefully accepts a thick slice of pizza.

Then his face sort of puckers. "Uh... pineapple?"

"Yeah, um," Torner blushes, "it's... the only topping I like. I-I mean, other than cheese, but..."

"Oh..." Nate's all quiet again. "It's the... only topping I don't like..."

He stares pathetically at the slice cupped within his hands. Torner can't look at it and grabs himself his first slice, then stuffs as much as humanly possible into his mouth. What a day.

In the corner of his eye he catches Nate tenderly plucking bits of pineapple off of his pizza, lining them in the box. Tentatively, after checking the whole slice over twice, he bites into it and moans again, softer, sadder. Between the food in his mouth he mumbles, "I can still taste the pineapple..."

Even so, Nate painstakingly finishes his pizza slice and snags another. He goes through the whole process of picking off the pineapple a second time, and by then Torner's eaten three slices and started on his fourth. But even so, even so, Nate delicately eats his way through his slice, a weird shimmer of gratitude wedged within his mystified face.

"It's still good," he finally pronounces. Then he burps.

A giant laugh shoots out of Torner. So does a bit of pineapple.

He's thoroughly embarrassed for like ten minutes there. But neither of them bring any attention to it in the end, and after shoving off the empty pizza box, Nate sidles up beside his friend.

"That was magical," the pinkette murmurs. He gratefully takes up a controller—but only after Torner makes him wash his hands.

Torner feels that knot surface in his stomach. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clasps his stupid controller hard in his hands.

And he proceeds to lose many times in a row to Nate.

"Maaaan, dude! You're gettin' better, bro! How _long_ have you been playin'?"

"Uhhh, Stryker kinda gave me the week off, so... all week?"

It's here, when Nate is so conflicted that he can't think, that Torner finally manages his first victory. It's pathetic, just like him, but it's freaking _fine_.

Nate shakes his head, his curls bouncing. "Maaan, it feels like it's only been a few weeks since we just met, y'know? And now you're already surpassing me..."

"Pfff. It only has been a few weeks." Torner coughs, his cheeks hot. "I-I'm not even that good! Hanzo lied about how good I was."

"I wish I had a brother who'd lie about how good I was..." murmurs Nate dreamily. But he comes out of it on his own. "Hey, how's that vivosaur doing anyways?"

"Vi-Vivosaur?"

Lysandre picks up her fighter's fear and feeds on it like a little monster. _Vivosaur?_

 _Shu—Shut up, Lysandre!_

Of course this does no good, as Lysandre never sees any need to heed her fighter's orders. _No, no. Now I'm interested. What vivosaur is this that you speak of so... softly, Nate? As if speaking loud enough would summon it here to these very chambers?_ She's just making everyone very nervous by now, Nate standing straighter than maybe he has his entire life and Torner with his hands politely in his lap.

The pinkette eventually returns to the conversation, albeit reluctantly. "So, uh... what was its name again? Ras..." Bright green eyes dim as they search the vast expanse of his neglected mind. "Raspberry! Right? No... I feel like it was less stupid, more confusing. Something sciency! We—Ooooh!" He randomly snags Torner by the wrist and tugs on his friend. "Dude! We should go _check_ on it! I'd love to see the li'l bugger again."

"Y-You? But Nate, he bit your butt!"

"Oh yeah." His face registers to accept this information. "But it'd be an adventure... and a _fun_ one too..."

Torner swallows, his expression cleanly revealing his mixed opinion. "Saying an 'adventure is fun' i-is like saying 'Leon is smiling'—i-it just doesn't happen!"

"PFFFF—" Nate slaps his free hand over his mouth. "Duuuude, he _smiles_!"

"But, but every time he smiles it's like a fake half smile! Like he's pretending he knows how to smile, and he's sort of winging it, and it's just _not_ real, and the whole time we hang out with him I can _never_ tell if he likes us or if he's just freaking _screw_ ing with us! What if—What if he's just a condescending—"

And then a voice smashes through their masses.

"Okay, not cool, man."

Nate and Torner both sit up straighter. Nate's ears blast red.

The very dude—their brooding Leon—traipses on through the door, which Nate had left partly open. Staring at it now, that stupid, suspended gap that got him into this predicament, Torner huffs and shoves against the freckled, pink-haired source of all his problems for the day.

Not quite facing his friends, Leon mutters, "I can smile," out of the corner of his mouth.

Nate and Torner share a glimpse. The same idea reflects between their gazes. "Sooooooo," the somehow-warden starts, "smile then?"

"I don't feel like smiling," Leon mutters in an even tinier voice. "You guys made me feel bad."

"Oh, uh." Torner kicks vainly into the couch. "S-Sorry. I was, uh, I was just joking." And letting his overwhelmingly paranoid feelings get the best of him, but, uh, yeah, joking. Just joking.

Like a dream, his very problem tries to morph into his savior. Coughing, Nate pulls their eyes back to him. He absently throws the pizza box behind the couch, but it only brings more attention to it. "Weeeee were thinkin' bout spying on Little!"

"Whuh— _Who_?"

" _Little_! C'mon, man—"

Torner breaks in. "He means freaking Leroy!"

A standstill. Nate casually picks the conversation back up. "Yeah, Leroy, Little, same diff. So, anyways, Little's got a freaky vivosaur in his room and we were gonna poke at it or something."

"Poke at it," Torner mutters, his hands returning to his controller. He subconsciously bends into it and begins to hug it. Lysandre snorts, loudly, and her fighter pointedly ignores her.

The sound of tongue rasping on cardboard pizza box breaks the silence. It must be Gremaine.

Everyone pointedly ignores Gremaine.

After a long, concentrated effort, Leon manages not to roll his eyes. "Well. I suppose my interest is _some_ what piqued. But, uh, why? Why do you want to do this?" He tries to catch Torner's wobbly kid gaze, for some sort of support, but Torner mopes in the direction of his on-standby NS.

"Cuz fun," Nate replies, shrugging. It is here that Torner realizes his friend is literally in his pajamas and wants to go on a freaking ad _vent_ ure and _why_ the heck is he this much of a mess. Like, even Torner's in pants today, which poke out faintly from beneath his giant junior warden jacket.

Despite the unnecessarily ugly shade of the orange, the jacket is very nice and soft.

Noticing his lack of positive feedback, Nate adds, "It's in love with Torner! Torner had a nosebleed or something when we were helpin' Little with testin' out the vivosaur, and—and it tasted Torner's blood and got, like, hooked to him!"

"And it bit your butt," Torner also adds, causing his friend's face to low-key sour. Of course, Nate can never stay sour for long, and he recovers by saying, "You should come, Leonnnnnn! It's a really weird vivosaur! Maybe it'd fall in love with you, too!"

Chuckling, Leon lets out a breath. "Boys, boys, I'm not looking for a relationship right at this time."

"Then why'd you get all _weird_ when Becky talked at you?" Torner blurts without thinking about it.

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough to turn it bright red after he lets go. "That's not..." And with that, his cheeks swell with heat. "Ugh, gee, _thanks_ , Torner. You are _not_ helping whatsoever."

Following their voices like a literal andrarch, Nate's eyes catch. "Oho! Maybe instead of visiting Raspberry, we should _go find Leon's girlfriend_!"

"I THINK WE SHOULD GO SEE THE STUPID VIVOSAUR." Leon sucks in a very loud breath, shoving his floppy hair over his face like some sort of disguise. Even... Even though... between violet locks of hair you can still see how flushed he is. Like, really clearly, too. It's here that Torner realizes Leon probably wants him to stop staring.

And so, without further ado, the odd little group of bros makes their way down the giant steps of the Regis Warden HQ. Their feet create loud, tinkling sounds like raindrops, the shimmering opulence of the chamber distracting until Torner realizes it's been a week since he left his room for something other than food, and also when did they clean up this dump. Cuz, uh, dang.

But as they reach the floor, Torner's tracker releases a hard buzz. He shakes, pulling back from his friends, and he presses the **accept call** button.

And then a voice he's never heard before asks for him to exit the room, to meet h— _her_ in front of the headquarters.

One might expect Torner to be less stupid about this. But he really wasn't keen on seeing stinky Rasa a second time, and he also is annoyed with his bros now, and he _also_ likes the idea of a cute girl meeting him up.

Of course. He's never met her before, but her voice sounds pretty cute, so Torner assumes she is extremely cute. He is a scrub, after all.

Following his lineage, Torner winds out of headquarters and steps into the presence of a person who makes his heart fly straight out of his chest.

 **The first five numbers of Stryker's credit card, 43468, spell out IDIOT (sort of? Like on the phone's dial pad those five letters are—yeah yeah that).**


	20. Romantic Fantasies Ensue

Backwoods

20: Romantic Fantasies Ensue

Immediately after his leaving headquarters, Torner just about smacks into—not a girl but a woman. He is already disappointed.

Her hair, a luscious silver that falls past her back in a wave of spindly beauty, shimmers in the late evening light, adding a pearly sheen to her angular features and thick, pale lips. Her cloak, fluffy and dark, must be longer than Torner's actual height. If she wanted to, she could hide him inside of her coat. Oh yeah, and she— _she_ is at least a foot taller than him.

Torner's heart spikes up a few notches. He has to take a breather.

Well, great. The cute voice on his tracker said she'd be just outside. Clearly Torner needs to _chill_. Maybe he should get it over with and settle on Mei Lan or something. Then again, he wouldn't really be _settling_ if it _was_ Mei L— _uhhhmmmmm_.

But maybe not though. Mei Lan? Petrifying. But also cute.

Petrifying. Cute. He can't yet tell which cancels out the other.

Thank goodness he left his vivosaurs in his room for once in his life... or they would've roasted the heck out of him for that one.

He shakes himself like a dog, turning again to the very tall pretty woman way out of his age range. "A-Are you—"

"Olga."

Torner sputters to a slick halt. As if in an attempt to hide his nervous confusion, he runs a hand through his spiny red hair. Sort of... picks some lint off his junior warden jacket. Throws it into the wind. Swallows. "O-Olga?" And he _still_ voice cracks. Maybe it's just inevitable.  
What if it means he's gonna hit his growth spurt soon.  
But then his voice'll get deep too and that's— _that's—_

The tall, spooky, still semi attractive woman raises a hand to the much shorter junior warden. Torner slaps it. She stares at him like he's lost his mind, and you know what, maybe he has. "Olga... is me." The hand Torner just slapped goes to her chest, nestled into her furs. "I... from very far! No... Veevaldi, where I from. Very... difficult language, yes! Very, ah, confusion people!"

Oh... this poor woman. Torner drops his awkward nigh-pitying eyes. "And, uh, I'm Torner."

"Yes, yes!" Olga, despite her sharp, musical tone, harbors such a cute, tiny laugh, like a bell. "Karl told me of... you! Torner!" Oh, no, that guy again? Wait wasn't he a part of the BN— _wait is she a part of the BN Brigade too_.

Torner's bright green eyes steadily widen until he can feel the sunset pouring into them, or maybe it's tears, but either way it hurts. Perhaps noting his discomfort, Olga shuffles a little, letting her back slacken, her narrow gaze soften. "I wished to... thank you, Torner, for the saving of Karl. Karl is... not bad man! Karl just enjoys... how did put... ah! Subverting the government's reign! That is said by Karl!"

Karl sounds more and more terrifying by the second. Maybe, uh, _maybe_ Hanzo should've locked the dude up instead of letting him roam free, so now he can literally tear the world apart by his creepy scythe-claw-hands.

Brows raised, Olga shifts immaculately, her smile perking, her voice... fluttery. Torner catches on and slouches out of his painfully immaculate posture. "Karl is... boyfriend."

"Whhhhhhh _aaaaaaaaahhh_ t?" His calm is thrust to the ground and trampled upon by nervous thirteen-year-old feet, not quite yet large enough to do any damage. "But—But _you're_ so nice and _Karl's_ so—"

"Nice, too!" Olga happily intercepts. Torner's mouth snaps shut. That is decidedly not how he wanted to end his sentence. "He... very nice! Just not like Stryker. He say... Stryker... old friend of his? From... school! School friends. But he _not_ like Stryker now. Not at all."

Torner stuffs his sleeved hand against his mouth and says, "That's because Stryker doesn't kill people and Karl probably does."

"What is you are saying?"

Politely, Torner neglects to respond.

Politely back, Olga pretends she did not ask. "I wanted... to say the... thank you! To Torner, for not... put Karl in cage!" Oh, prison. Right. That was Hanzo's doing, but out of both arrogance and trying not to confuse poor Olga any further, Torner doesn't bring his older brother up. "We... very grateful! All of bee-en very very grateful for you! Is not many, not many bee-en mem...bers, but, ah, very big hearts! Very big care for bee-en!"

What's insane is that the more this woman speaks, the more Torner feels for the freaking BN Brigade. She just... She makes them sound so _innocent_ , like a bunch of kindergarteners starting a, like a skateboarding club or something. So it _sounds_ cute, _sounds_ innocent, but in the end they're hurting themselves almost as much as they're running into other people.

Gosh dang it. Why are all the cute girls the ones who would never in a millions years be attracted to him? Maybe he's doing it wrong. Maybe _he_ 's the one who doesn't understand himself. Maybe...

Low key Torner's thinking of turning himself into the hecking bee-en now.

Then he stops himself, because he's not that much of a pushover, or at least he wants to believe he isn't. Coughing, painfully, into his sleeve, Torner tries to face the tall, sharp woman whose face, backlit by the disappearing sun, reaches the crisp, cold unapproachable might of a literal mountain. "Y-You're welcome. I-I guess. I mean, w-we were just happy Karl was... helping... us? Because... Stryker was... uh..."

Torner wonders if it'd be this hard to talk to Olga if she was a dude.  
Gaahhhh.

"Then we have... same interests?"

Baffled, he meets Olga's gaze for the very first time. "I-I dunno about that! G-Gee- _eez_." Ah, yes, another voice crack. "I mean, I'm still part of the w-wardens, and all, but... p-please don't kill me..." Nervous, suddenly considering the possibility, Torner glances into the bushels in the hopes of spotting Karl before he jumps out and murders someone.

"Wh-Whaaaa?" Olga gasps. "We... no kill! Zero... kill! Bad kill! No!" Shakes her head abruptly. Torner pretends it is not really cute when Olga shakes her head like that, and her hair flutters around her head, and her lips crinkle a little on the edges, and it's _not_ cute. Nope. "Is... wrong! We, ah, merely... subvert... government! Which is... warden! Y-Yes? Not kill, just... do... best. To help!"

"O-Oh..." But... Karl still had those scythes attached to his hands... like extensions of his fingers, like he just wanted someone to ask to shake his hand, and that was when he'd strike, taking off the recipient's arm from the wrist down instantly, perhaps killing them from the shock.

Torner swallows his heart, fitfully scooping it back into his chest with his frigid sense of self, only for it to leap back into his throat immediately.

W-Well, only one way to get himself out of this mess. Painfully, wishing for Lysandre to show up and help him some more, Torner fixates his goal on extracting himself from this conversation, rejoining his dumb friends, and freaking finding that stupid red vivosaur. "So uh, is there anything else you... wanted... t-to uh..." Oh this is too hard...

"Thank you again!" Olga beams. They are talking in cute little circles. "You are... kind boy! You mus—"

Finally, as if a savior, as if an omen, Torner feels the door groan open on his back. He scampers forward and bumps into Olga in the process; it is somewhat horrifying to realize he only _almost_ reaches up to her chest. Torner considers stopping everything to seek out his growth spurt when the people behind the door gasp. Well—no.

Nate gasps. Leon does not, cuz Leon is at the very least better than Nate when it comes to assumptions.

Following his gasp, the pink-haired doof in his pajamas cries, " _Torn_ er! I-Is she your _girl_ friend?!"

Torner chokes on his own screeching. Once he's untangled himself from the tall, pearly BN lady, he shakes himself out, sort of glares at Olga. "Nhhh-No! The age gap's waaaay too big."

"Age gap?" Nate starts, but then his eyes knowingly seek for Leon's, and he gasps a second time, perhaps even more scandalously. "I-IS SHE _YOUR_ GIRLFRIEND, LEON?!"

"WHAAAAAT! NO! NEVER!" Despite his claims, Leon's cheeks heat and inflate like a hot air balloon.

Perhaps due to the language barrier, perhaps due to the surprise encounter of so many pubescent boys, Olga's cutting-yet-soft gaze attempts to follow conversation to little avail. Her lips lay parted, her brow steadily furrowing.

This is when Leon's ever sharper gaze connects and makes a swipe at her: "You! Wh-Who the heck are you, anyways! Why are you me-meeting here with literally Torner, of all people! He's just some kid!"

"Yeah! I'm just some kid!" Torner squeals; then he thinks better of it and slaps his own hand over his mouth. Man, if only Lysandre was here, maybe she could've stopped him firs— _Gosh_ dang it Torner misses her. He really shouldn't have left her behind. He can't believe he's admitting this to himself. When he gets to bed tonight she's gonna freaking read his mind and—

Speaking of vivosaurs, it appears Nate has kept one held tightly to his chest this whole time. It is a tiny red vivosaur, and Torner now faces a problem in which he is trying very hard not to pee himself.

His question having fallen to a weak void of silence, Leon clears his throat. Runs a hand through his hair like it does anything. "E-Ex _cuse_ me! Who are you, ma'am, to be running amok in the midst of the wardens intelligence centers! P-Pedestrians aren't allowed in here after dark, y-y'know! And Stryker still... kicks them out in the daytime when he forgets..." he mutters that last part under his breath.

Oh that sort of ruins every type of alibi ever. Thanks, Leon.

Awkwardly, Torner's eyes lock with Olga's. Telling the truth would be a terrible idea, but does she realize that? The moment his now-accomplice begins with "I from bhh—" he grabs her by the wrist and tugs her sidelong, causing a mess of confusion for pretty much all parties involved.

"They're wardens," Torner loud-whispers.

"Oh." Olga's face pinks, which is cute to an otherworldly ultimatum that causes his heart to finally slide down his throat. "Ri-Right."

Staring at his friends, knowing how _shady_ he looks with his squinty eyes, Torner beckons for his new accomplice to bow her head so he can whisper into her ear, "Ho- _How_ did you even get here. Cuz you should probably le-leave very very very soon." The sky has been dunked into darkness by now, the sun a dipping sliver dousing the boys and their technically-enemy in an orangey plume.

Staring forcefully at her, she staring fitfully back, Olga's cheeks pink a little harder. "I, ah... walk." Torner's about to start screaming when she motions his shutting up, thinking for an excruciatingly long second. "Came in from shorelines... found bone buggy, used to get here! Can leave same way. Karl... waiting."

This is the part where Torner tells his fun new accomplice good-bye. They part ways, perhaps to never be seen together again, hopefully to never end up in another situation like this, cuz this? Geez, if it's not _awkward_...

Oh, no...  
But now Torner's thinking about his brother, his brother who helped Karl escape by driving him where he needed to go, who hid Karl's existence to Stryker, who essentially saved the day and then stowed it all inside of his younger brother. His younger brother, who was there and that's mostly all he did.

"Y-You probably don't know much about driving, so—so here, le-lemme take you! I-I can do it better..." Even as he voices the plight deep in his soul, Torner feels a little bit like stuffing his shirt over his head and staying there for forever.

Thinking about Rasa causes him to panic more, which adds urgency to his voice and makes him that much more convincing, despite the fact that it's entirely possible she already knows how to drive. Olga straddles a strand of her shimmery silver hair, woven between threads of dying sunlight, her face in a harsh mask of shadow...

"O-Okay. Thank you much, Torner."

Torner decidedly does not pee himself. Then he darts over to his friends and explains the situation, carefully defining Olga as a _lost pedestrian_ who needs a ride _home_. This of course is unbelievably shady because when has Torner ever helped someone else out of his own free will, but he tries to cover this part by depicting Olga as this poor, poor lost woman who he just happened to see wandering around outside, and he just felt so _bad_ for her. So, so, _connected_ to her, like it was fate except no he's not attracted to her no shut up they're not dating not ever. She has a boyfriend. That's right Nate, now shut up. _Yes_ and her boyfriend is not Torner. Geez.

Even once he's gone through the motions, his heart pounding, his head starting up on some fun little headache, Nate has to ask yet another question. "If she's some random ped, then why's Rasa hissing at her?"

They all sort of pretended this wasn't happening until now. Forced to confront it, a cringe breaks out across Torner's red face. "I-I dun _no_! Maybe cuz you took him from Leroy and he's in love with Leroy too!"

"Oh, good point," Nate actually considers. "But wait... wouldn't his, like, love for you have negated it though?"

"Maybe he's mad at me for not speaking to him in a zillion years." Rasa's strangely-large eyes shine with this inherent _malice_ that hurts to look at for too long, two little blazing emerald suns. His... unngh, Torner'd forgotten about his creepily-matching red scales to Torner's hair, and those luminous green eyes...

Leon, with his hands all cool in his pockets, speaks: "I've never seen that freaky little mess before, but he does... appear... _notably_ peeved about something. Maybe it is you?"

Whether or not his covering for Olga's bee-en brigade sake is intentional, Torner takes it up gratefully. "There we go! It was me, I suck, and now I gotta go drop off Ol—the lady before it gets too dark and I get stuck out there with monster vivosaurs that eat us alive!"

With that, he turns around and fast-walks in that way Stryker fast-walks when he's in a hurry to go snag Olga a second time.

Unfortunately, before he gets that far, he feels teeth sink into his ankle.

He already knows. He freaking _al_ ready knows, as he pulls the stupid, stupid thing out of his flesh and forces it into a tight hug at his chest. Rasa, as squirmy and evil as he is, cannot seem to break out of this hold, so that's what they're doing.

In the distance behind him, Torner can faintly make out his pink-haired inspiration murmur, "Our kid's grown up so quickly..."

Surprisingly, his purple-haired inspiration responds. "You know what? Yeah. You're freaking right."

And that just makes his stomach all knotted up, so he pretends he overheard nothing and focuses on Squirmy McIssues, the literal worst vivosaur of all time. Right now would be the most perfect moment in the world for Leroy, or Stryker, or Lysandre or Gremaine or _someone_ to dart through the door or burst out a window and stop the vivosaur. But, well.

Ducking into the garage, Olga leads her short driver to the spot she'd parked her stolen buggy. Torner glances over it, notes a crunch in the side that he _obv_ iously assumes was Olga's fault, though other than that it's in surprisingly sharp shape.

It occurs to him that if Olga found a bone buggy in the middle of a dig site and just sort of floored it, there is an overwhelming possibility that this was someone else's beforehand. And that someone else could very well still be searching for it, out in a giant, ugly, dark dig site with actually nobody to turn to for help. Maybe they've tried their tracker once or twice and got in a spat with Stryker, and Stryker was probably like _you left your buggy somewhere, it didn't just disappear, you better find it_ or whatever.

Oh gosh. That is one dizzying thought process, and it's even more sickening that he'd bet another pineapple pizza on it being exactly what happened.

After getting into a growling argument with Rasa and eventually convincing him to get into his stupid red medal, Torner finally snaps the tiny red nuisance into the little vivosaur medal slot on the buggy. He'll, like, shoot out if a battle happens, or at least that's what the manual said when he read it that one time.

Torner hefts himself into the big front seat, Olga sliding into the passenger's side with an annoying grace that Torner knows he himself could never muster.

Overall, it's a nice buggy. Huge, which is awesome since huge means it's a million times safer and also has headlights bigger than Torner's face. How exciting it is when he turns them on and all the spooky shadows melt into pleasing neutrality. It has cup-holders too; if only Torner had a drink to put in there. It'd just be... cool to... use it.

If only Lysandre was here. She'd sit in one of them. They're not all fancy heated cup-holders like Dahlia's, but... still.

Ugh. He misses his mom-lythro.

Shakes himself. Starts up the buggy. Partway through the motions, he realizes he's gotten used to his new normalcy and tries to determine how he feels about that. He can't really tell, though. Oh well. Maybe he's just too tired to put up with things right now, or maybe he's finally gotten over the horrific enigma that is Mr. Stryker. Or, uh, maybe Hanzo's helped him out a lot. _Dang_ it he missed Hanzo a freaking _ton_ when he and Sasuke left. Not, not like last week, when he and Duna went back to doing whatever they spend their days doing... just, like...

He's not just some hero. He's Torner's big freaking brother, too. Just... hnngghhh. Stupid Hanzo and Sasuke just sorta _left_ back when they were kids and, and he _never_ saw Hanzo and it was _dumb_.

It was dumb that Hanzo never even wrote him a letter. Not that Torner could read back then, but he could've seen the letter and assumed it was from his older brother, and even if it literally said _gonna go buy cookies, be back maybe one day_ , Torner wouldn't have known until he was literate. And it still would've been a little scrap of paper with Hanzo's scrawled handwriting slashed across it in jagged marks of pent-up feeling, blotched with ink and worn with age and perhaps containing an inkling of the brother Torner didn't get to see again until he got shipped to the stinking wardens.

It was just dumb.

That's all.

Torner tries to set his face back into a comfortable calm as he drives. Without even being asked, like the weirdly kindhearted BN member she is, Olga gently points out where to turn, what roads and suspicious dirt paths to take, until they glide into a small, secluded shoreline that's not even connected to a dig site but sort of separating two of them.

What a cute little thing.

However, after poking around a bit in the starlight, Torner realizes that zero Karls are standing around waiting for their girlfriend. His heart pounding in an aftershock of fear, he glances abruptly at the lady who did this to him, only to meet a smile. "He... ah..." Olga's fingers fidget, as if imagining how to express her feelings in this strange tongue-tied language. "Is here! Just... Worried, sees funny car, knows somebody not-me in funny car too."

"O-Oh." Dang. "He's, uh, smart, to be that cautious and stuff."

Olga nods, all happy. "Very smart boyfriend."

Torner swallows an instinctive nervous chuckle.

After getting out, Torner sort of glances around... but he doesn't spy the person who originally drove the buggy. O-Or at least, he doesn't see them anywhere nearby. Wh-What if they went searching for their buggy and, like...

Hurriedly Torner scans the waters to no avail. His stomach goes cold. M-Maybe they were a ghost all along? Ma-Maybe they walked back to headquarters? Maybe they were a vivosaur? Maybe all along _it was Rasa's fault—_

His eyes lingering on the waters, Torner literally jumps when the glossy edge of a... some sort of horrifying giant black vessel breaks to the air. A glistening hatch pops up and Olga, after waving to her accomplice, hikes up her fluffy cloak and works her way down through the hatch, into the null. If Torner squints, he can sort of make out an edge to it, way far out in the horizon.

The hatch stays out. Torner can hear someone clambering back up; then he meets eyes with crazy-haired and masked and bladed _Karl_ , who gives him a wave too, with his stupid scythe-hands, then calls between them, "If you need help, just call us!"

"Whhhh—" Torner's tracker beeps with two newly registered contact numbers and feels himself grow faint.

He's officially an _accomplice._

Oh _shoot_ he was right when he told his sister he wanted to be like Team Skull.  
Cuz here's his, here's his...

Torner has to try very hard not to faint.

Out of nowhere a cold hand clasps his shoulder and he lets out a soft gasp.

"Wow, and there she goes. A fine lady, but _gawsh..._ could've just asked _me_ for a ride in the first place."

For a second she sounds exactly like Dahlia and Torner considers breaking down right then and there, only he notes... the maturity? She's older, more experienced, way more experienced than Dahlia. Thank goodness for that. Turning, Torner accidentally bumps heads with the very lady whose buggy was stolen earlier this evening.

"Wu _uuBH_!" He falls backwards, catches himself.

She really looks like Dahlia. The same blustery red hair, only longer and a smidge curlier, her tan skin covered in freckles and her—what the heck is she wearing? It's like... a romper, sort of, but with this fur around the top, and... rubies... embedded in it everywhere?

Shaking out her curls, the lady holds out a hand. "I'm Ruby. Ya gonna save me or's the plan to hang out in this dump awhile longer?" She does this cute, distracting thing where she runs her teeth over her lip, and it takes Torner a second to respond.

"Uhh, no, uh..." Shakes himself. "WHY ARE YOU OUT HERE?"

"Cuz I was stu—"

"NO, BEFORE THAT! WHAT THE HECK! IF YOU WEREN'T HERE I WOULDN'T BE AN ACCOMPLICE!"

Ruby... blinks. What shiny amber eyes. Forcefully, Torner looks away. "Accomplice." Apparently she thinks better and moves on. "Well, I was _try_ ing to find some gems, cuz this guy told me there were gems out here, and he'd found them and all, but _nnnnothing_. Ungh, I _can't_ believe I wasted an afternoon out here. I swear I am never listening to my sister's advice again. We're"—Ruby's chest puffs out, and he realizes who she really reminds him of—"going to be _models_ , and we're going to regain our fortunes doing what _matters_."

Sapphire, that was her name, right?

Well. Ruby is not scary at _all_ anymore, not when Torner remembers her horrifyingly cursed _sister_.

"We-Well, I can drive you back if you want. I-I mean, y-you're a warden too, ri-right?"

Ruby throws her hair over a shoulder in an attempt of flirting that goes literally and figuratively right over Torner's head. "Yeah, I'm a warden. Stryker let me in after my sis told him we had nowhere else to turn to. Debts, and all, y'know? Stryker gets it... hmmmm, if only Stryker didn't understand, and he was rich. Then I could seduce him into marrying me and—"

"MARRY STRYKER OUT OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL?"

Torner has to _stop_ for a whole other second there.

At his outburst, while he's panting and throwing his hands in little firecracker-fists around himself, Ruby carefully looks the thirteen-year-old down. She must know he's thirteen, or not anywhere near her age of at-least-an-adult, but she does it anyways without a freaking care. "You don't say _you_ have money, do you?" Her lashes flutter, and it all dives over his head again. Literally and figuratively, like the child Torner is.

"Well, yeah. I'm supposed to inherit my family's overpriced clothing store cuz Hanzo and Sasuke became ninjas, and all."

Wait maybe he shouldn't have—

" _Ho_ neyyyy—"

"I have a girlfriend," he hurriedly blurts. Who? He doesn't know. As long as he has one he's safe. That's what matters.

"Ah, darn. The good ones're alllllways taken," Ruby mutters. Torner almost blows his own cover but manages not to because his fear of this woman has become overpowering. She's scarier than Sapphire.

"A-Anyways, can we go back now?"

"Oh, gawwsh, yes, please." Ruby sashays on over to the passenger's seat. "Thank _gawsh_ you're here, I really do hate driving."

Oh, uh. "Y-You're welcome." Letting the kid drive seems to be the hip thing to do, up in Warden World. Torner hops in and starts up the buggy. He considers throwing Rasa into the wilderness and making that little monster fend for himself, but it turns out he's not that heartless. His fingers clasp around the fob to release the thing, and he tugs at it in the tiniest touch, and he's about to do it, but his heart seizes. And he can't bring himself to go any farther.

How disappointing.

"Speaking of your girlfriend... Just, ahhh, just wondering, but how _stable_ is your relationship?" Oh, back to Torner and his nonexistent girlfriend, huh?

Torner lets out a long breath. How _freak_ ing stable indeed. Then he remembers the stablest relationship he's ever seen and hits the ground running. "Oh, our parents put us in an arranged marriage when we were children, so all our lives we've been together waiting for the day we're old enough to get married."

"How... touching," Ruby sneers, having absolutely no clue that all of this is a lie. Doesn't even consider the fact that this is word-for-word Nate and Penny's relationship. Hmm, maybe she doesn't know anything about them. Maybe she's _that_ kind of person who only sees a person for the little tally of money-digits floating over their head.

Okay Torner. That's a little mean. He can already anticipate Lysandre's scolding response.

"Lemme just tell you, kiddo. You ever tire of her? Come to me. I'll have you covered."

Oh. Oh, o _kay_.

"I-If you say so," he mutters, words dragging off his lip. He wonders if saying he was gay would've made this easier, but he also has this unsettling sensation in his chest that Ruby would've tried to convince him she could make him reconsider it. Wow, this is terrible.

So does he need a girlfriend now? Or can Ruby just forget he ever existed? Hmmm. While he drives, his mindscape wanders, expands, and paints a little picture of a little redheaded girl in her cute little mostly-pink room. In this world, Ruby has a diary she keeps under her pillow of all the potential rich people she could marry, and tonight, as she tucks herself into her covers and tries not to focus on another day wasted, another day still in debt, she'll add his name to her diary. Maybe draw some little Torner-doodles, and some hearts with money signs trapped within.

Torner is positively unable to keep the tears from running down his cheeks.

Thankfully, by the time they reach headquarters, Ruby's too tired from her gem-seeking excursion to pester him anymore about his nonexistent girlfriend. After attempting and failing to get Rasa to go back to Leroy's lab, Torner gets to sleep in bed crowded with an entire _three_ vivosaurs.

And Lysandre spends all night laughing about what happened, because she is most certainly the worst.


	21. Family

Backwoods

21: Family

Upon his awakening the next morning, Torner's tracker beeps in a flurry of fun notification, as flipping fireworks. Groggy and irritated, rubbing his temple, the thirteen-year-old scrolls through his messages, and it takes him three tries before he notices the pattern: each one is from the exact same sender. He blinks, blearily, his brow furrowed, before groaning into his pillow. Ruby Bling can go _leave him alone_.

Maybe, maybe she thinks cuz he's thirteen, he's all _malleable_ and stuff, and if she just keeps freaking _working_ at it, she'll seduce him, or whatever. Ewwww. Girls are still low-key gross, like, kissing? No. Oh no. Come on. Plus she's weird, and Torner doesn't like her, and she probably has a heart beneath all of her lust for money, but it's not like Torner's paying any attention to _that_ , now is he? What about the _diary_? The diary she may not even own!

Throat-clearing by his ear. Torner moans. _I've raised you better than that, you._

He pouts, embracing the fact that he is still an utter child. _But I'm mad, cuz this dumb girl is terrorizing me._ It occurs to him to send a complaint up to one of the chief wardens, but it also occurs to him that they have too much going on trying to stop Stryker's crazy expenditures and also not go bankrupt to focus on Torner's pathetic love life.

Aw, darn. Wait—

Recalling his plan for a farce, all in the world is good again. Torner releases a long, long breath. Okay. Now to make magic happen.

 _What happens when she falls in love with someone else?_

Torner scowls. _Wh-What about it, Lysandre? W-We just have to pretend f-for now! Then Ruby'll stop being mean and go prey on some other unsuspecting scrub._ Or maybe by then he'll have an actual girlf—pffff who is he kidding, no he won't.

 _You should just ask Mei Lan out, fall in love, live a happy life with her._

An angry flush fills his cheeks. _No I shouldn't. She's mean too. Every single girl is mean except for the ones who are already taken, plus this one._

 _Oh that is just not true, Torner. Stop moping. You're only thirteen, remember that._

In favor of ignoring his lythro, Torner goes back to the messages he got from Ruby. He scrolls all the way down to the bottom and opens that first one. **Invitation for "Midell Brunch" received.** He groans a second time. That sounds fancy... does he own a single scrap of fancy clothing...  
Wait his guardians own a clothing shop, of course he freaking does.

Somehow that makes it worse, because it means he has to go now. O-Or at least, there's not much of a reason not to.

Instead of replying, Torner stalls by reading through all the other texts he got. Ruby's voice continually blows up in his head, things about **fancy gatherin'** and **you should come** and blah blah blah this is as boring as going to the bathroom.

 _Ahhh, just try it, Torner. If you give in this once, and prove yourself unwavering, she might leave you alone._

He suddenly jumps up from his bed, dragging the blankets and a certain lythro along with him. She teeters over and lands in a pile of unwashed underwear. _Lysandre! I've got it! I'll spill grape juice all over her, and then she'll hate me for the rest of eternity!_

 _That's not..._ His lythro snorts, raising herself again. She lacks the care to comment upon her boy-warden's inability to do his own laundry, in the interest of pursuing her original request. _Don't be so childish, Torner, or you never will truly grow up._

Torner considers fighting that claim, but the more he thinks about it, the worse he sees the conversation turning out, so he leaves it as is.

A bedhead boy wanders off into his closet, bumping his head on the door frame before making it all the way in. Steadily, as he seeps through his mess of clothing, most unwashed, a rainbow sea of Torner-smelling decay expands. Eventually he resurfaces in a pink-flamingo hawaiian shirt, actual jeans, his weirdly immaculate pair of boots, and a tie that is the opposite of tied.

 _Maybe we should go find Nate. I'd say he knows how to tie a—_

Torner raises a hand. _I'm thinking, if I go in like_ this _, then—_

 _Torner oh my goodness you are not listening to a single thing I've said._ Growling under her breath, Lysandre glances hopelessly at the two vivosaurs still asleep in Torner's bed as if for an unwilling reinforcement. _Do you even know how to enjoy yourself if you're not playing video games? Is that the one thing in your entire life that makes you happy, or something? Torner!_

He stiffens. Brushes some of the wrinkles out of his shirt.

His vivosaur's usually calming ambery-green gaze has unsettled. _Torner, there is so much more to life than a screen with funny characters that aren't even real dancing around on top of it!_ Slowly unwinding, her unsettled eyes submerge within a storm. _Before you go complaining about your terminally absent brother, look at yourself and do something about it! How do you know you're not one of the reasons he decided to leave!_ The storm devolves, and devolves, until finally a maelstrom seethes in its wake.

Lysandre straightens, as if to add something else, only she catches her fighter's lip trembling and releases it, whatever it is. _Torner..._ And now he's crying. Wonderful. _Dhhh—Torner, I wasn't trying to..._ She thinks back upon what she was saying. Okay, maybe she went a little too far. That Hanzo thing was a... yeah that was too far.

He still won't meet her gaze, but he mumbles, _You're the best mom I ever had, and that makes me really really hate you sometimes._ She winces. He continues. _It just... cuz like, you know, I'm not... I'm all not decent at all, so then you're like trying to get me to be all good, except that won't work, and then I'm... I'm like a scrub... and I can't even win at ARMS and Stryker thinks I'm good at being a warden... but I'm not good at anything..._

After letting out a slow, relieved breath, Lysandre decides to be at least grateful that her fighter is no longer crying due specifically to _her_. She clears her throat. _I'm not going to pity you, Torner. As I've said before, you are only thirteen. Please... chill out._

Her eyes wander. Torner's follow. Well this is a smidge awkward. _And, ah, finish getting dressed? I-I mean the breakfast thing probably already started, so you might as well get there sometime within the next year. Maybe they have, I don't know... what was it you liked? The flat, bready food. And you'd drown it in liquid sugar, that brown stuff._

As if in response, Torner presses his lips tightly together. He doesn't even make anything out of it, just stands there, staring at the same corner in the room, the tie around his neck steadily drooping until it finally slips onto the floor.

Dejected, Torner stares down at it. It's not a shabby tie: crisp, white, with tiny paisleys on it. But there it is. On the floor. _D'you think they'd notice if I just didn't wear a tie? I mean I'm already dressed fine. The flamingos, I think, are what sells it._

 _The flamingos, I think—_ Lysandre breaks off to snort loudly— _are atrociously extra._

 _Yeah well you don't even wear clothes so your opinion doesn't, like, count._ Torner sticks out his tongue at her, and their relationship goes pretty much to the place it always goes to. And she does—Lysandre does—consider it, apologizing, but she leaves it as is. If she apologized, it'd be like saying the reason behind her raising her voice was invalid, and they both know that's not the case.

Well thank goodness Torner's not as weak as he looks and acts, huh?

The fighter in question takes a long stare at his sleeping vivosaurs: the red-and-green monstrosity and also Gremaine. He grunts, opens up his hand; Lysandre's tidy scarlet-rimmed medal falls neatly into his palm. Warm and soft, a reminder. He tucks it safe within his jeans pocket, then raises his head slowly, looking literally the freshest he has possibly ever looked. The only time that might compare is when he went to that going-away party his guardians threw for Hanzo and Sasuke after they had already disappeared for their ninja whatever training.

That's not that pathetic, is it?

From his pocket, a speck of light hums. _I was joking about the flamingos. You look fine, Torner. Maybe you'll snag yourself one of those girlfriends you want so badly if you dress like this all the time._

 _Oh ha ha,_ he mutters. _I'm not dating a girl who makes me put this much effort into my outfit every single day of my life._

 _That's not exactly what I meant_ , the warmth snickers. She lets it be, though.

Torner steps over his little wasted tie and off they go. Although his walk moves at the pace of a crippled shuffle and he takes a long, long breath before using the world gate portal thing, there unfortunately are not all that many steps between Regis and Midell, which sounds really messed up when you think about it for too long. They are on opposite ends of the world, after all, but anyways. The boy enters the castle-shaped warden headquarters and takes a stop to re-listen to Ruby's voiced directions before wandering aimlessly into a wall.

Finally Torner enters a giant chamber full of pointy chandeliers and long, manila tables.  
Immediately he wishes he was stationed here. Freaking Violet takes _so_ much better care of her headquarters than both Becky and Stryker combined. Even—Even though Becky has Sean and Stryker has Liu Ren.

What a _mom_.

 _Yeah, but moms are decidedly cool,_ Lysandre informs him, and Torner shrugs.

Wait—Torner remembers that Violet and Drake did adopt two kiddos, and he also remembers that one of them is Dahlia. His heart rate spikes until he recognizes zero Dahlias in the chamber. Thank _goodness_. For a second there he was like, does he need to run home and never leave his room again.

Then his mind glosses over the whole _Dahlia's dad seems to ignore her existence_ thing and he doesn't know how to feel again, opting to swallow the strange dull taste in his mouth.

Nervously, as faces begin to turn his way, Torner runs a hand through his hair, tries for a wave, gets zero waves back—wait except for the sporadic one in the corner oh _great_ that's Ruby. Man, despite the length of the tables, they sure are sparsely assorted with wardens. Like, not even Drake's here? Wait Drake hates being around people.

Ruby gives this giddy little laugh. " _Torn_ er!" she tosses with a final waggle of her hand, "how _splendid_ it is of you to _join_ our little gathering here! My my..." She purrs a little too excitedly to herself, twirling the end of her braided hair. Oh geez are there rubies, like, weaved into her braid. _Oh geez_. Her actual hair must cost as much as his NS. Or more. " _Us_ ually, only the best of the wardens are allowed to dine here, but Sapphy's one of the best, so we get to come all the time~"

Torner never thought he'd be this grateful that Dahlia isn't one of the best. Curiously he scans the crowd of the... "best". There's a giant dude he recognizes as one of the band members from Red Fang, and beside him resides the man who sat next to Gauss on the piano for... Torner is literally never going to remember that name. Some fun, unfamiliar people swim before his gaze until Torner just plops himself down next to Ruby and can't look at them all anymore.

Hey this must be where _Hanzo_ usually eats. Is this why Torner will sometimes not see him for weeks at a time.

Oh _shoot_.

Tethered by necessity to the lady who invited him, Torner stabs a glance Ruby's way. She's... in this really fluffy red dress, which is cute and all except for the part that it is sort of low-cut, making Torner very uncomfortable. "S-So who all's allowed here, a-anyways?"

"Mmmmh, the cooks, obviously. When they have time off they hang out in here sometimes." Ruby analyzes her freshly-painted silvery nails. Frowns at one of them, Torner can't tell why. "You probbbably haven't met them? There's a pretty cute girl on the team, name's Daisy, but I guess that wouldn't matter to _you_ since you're in your fancy nancy _stable relationship_."

Is she trying to get Torner to... give up on his nonexistent girlfriend? D-Did she figure out that his girlfriend's nonexistent?

Ruby continues, none the wiser. Her amber eyes twinkle annoyingly like the glitter on her nails. "Who elllse... Oh! The ninja dudes, of course. Hanzo 'n Sasuke. Nnnfgh, I tried _so_ hard and _neither_ of them showed even the _slightest_ bit of interest in me..." She sniffs. "I thought at least I'd at least win over that _skank_ y Sasuke...

"Oh well, oh well. Ahhh, the music venue members are allowed in, since they're cool and all. Y'see the giant dude with the flaming red hair? That's Aggro, and the dude with him's Lancelot. Don't concern yourself trying to remember them though, because apparently they're _too important_ to _keep up with us normies_."

A sudden new person plops down across from them, in a long... bathrobe, and pajama pants, and slippers, and her short sky-blue hair hasn't even been combed. Torner stares up at her in pained awe. "Ru, what are you talking about? Is this because neither of them were single when you asked them out? I _told_ you, they've been dating for years now. You can't break up a happy couple to snag a hot man; they wouldn't let you, even if you were any good at it. Nor _should_ they, you cretin."

Oh this is _Sapph_ ire. Torner remembers her by her totally dry, sarcastic tone. Somehow it's still thriving with this underlying regal tone, which is both confusing and... a little cute? But not cute, because she's _old_ , as in _adult_ old, as in way out of Torner's league.

Torner wants a girl like her though. The sort of girl who will go into a fancy nancy restaurant in pajamas.

Glancing between her sister and her sister's new buddy—over a heaping plate of cinnamon rolls and something Torner doesn't even know the name of—Sapphire smirks. She lacks the care to cover it with her hand. "Did you even show him where the food is? _Ru_ , you're not gonna win over a guy like that."

"That's what _you_ think," her sister mutters before grabbing Torner's wrist and pulling him toward the back of the chamber. A fat assortment of pleasant-smelling essentials stares up at him in rows of tables and helpings and, holy gosh _food._

But wait. There's no pancakes. When Torner asks, his escort goes so far as to laugh a snooty laugh. " _Pan_ cakes? The only pancakes we have are the crap-ones Stryker makes with his watered down pancake mix! I mean, sure, sometimes the real cooks will whip something akin out, like their fancifully _gorgeous_ crepes, but _pan_ cakes? Why pancakes when you can have something imported from Caliosteo? I mean how _fancy_ is that?"

Torner shrinks into the pit of his pancake-loving soul and morosely dishes scrambled eggs onto his plate. A giant pile of scrambled eggs, the most unappetizing-looking bit of food hidden within the never-ending aisle of cuisine glory.

And then he drowns his eggs in ketchup and slowly waddles back to his table, leaving Ruby to silently tally which delicacy costs the most out of the bunch.

Sapphire, upon his return, glances down at his eggs and nods. "Sometimes I have those kinds of days too. I feel you, kiddo." She puts down her exquisite knife-looking thing and uses her fingers to pop a clump of cinnamon roll into her mouth. "Ru's annoying as all hell, but she's good in a pinch. Well... she's also _bad_ in a pinch, but in the end I guess what matters is she's pretty ridiculous. Comedic relief! That's it, she's comedic relief." Sapphire smiles smugly to herself.

"Ha-Has she ever stolen _your_ boyfriend, Sapphire?" Torner blurts.

"Pfffff, _my_ boyfriend?" Sapphire slaps a hand onto the table. "Do I _look_ like the type of person boys would just be _leaping_ at the chance to date? Look at this, look at"—she points out a spot of her bathrobe to Torner and states, nimbly—"this coffee stain is from two weeks ago. Now I'm _wearing_ it out in public."

"Yeah well I'd rather date a girl like you than a girl like Ruby," Torner also blurts. He realizes that he doesn't quite regret it.

Sapphire gives him this stare, like she can't tell if he's serious or not. "Honestly, you'd need parts of both of us in order to make a _good_ girlfriend." And despite herself, she doesn't let Torner get away with making fun of her sister.

"So, uhhhmm..." Torner glances back at all the people in the room. They still make him feel weird, and Ruby never finished her gossiping about them. "Why do I recognize like none of these guys?"

"Because you're a little baby junior warden?" Sapphire rolls her hard, blue gaze. She kinda grins though, like she was waiting for a chance to gossip too. This is just wild. "Mmmh... The rockers are cute and all, but they mostly stick to their crowd. Uhhh..." Oh boy, more gossip. This is not really what Torner asked for, but too late, it seems, to knock her out of her people-watching reverie. "The warden heads, of course, get to come in and crash the place whenever they feel like it. And Mei Lan—well, until she snapped a chandelier in half, scared the living _day_ lights out of Stryker. It was hysterical. I almost peed myself. Anyways, now she's on probation." Oh. Oops. Torner's not even surprised.

As if summoned by the sound of gossip, Ruby materializes with a plate of more food than Torner can stomach. He stares at it, and it causes his appetite to dwindle. "Oooooh, let's seeeee!" She turns around in her booth-chair subtly, the better to search the faces of the people around her. "Ah! Doctor Doug Digmore! They say he got his name from an old ancestor of his. No idea who, but. Anyways, he keeps getting attacked by vivosaurs on his little discovery missions, so he's a bit of a failure if you ask me. I _thought_ about asking him out, but, y'know, even _I_ have standards."

"No you don't," Sapphire interjects, "you asked him out and he dumped your sorry ass all quiet-like. He was all cute about it, too, like _oh, I'm so sorry, I'm really too busy to be thinking about a relationship right now_." She rolls her eyes. "Even _he_ knew you were only doing it for the chance of breaching his little fortune. The ninjas are probably richer, you know." A telltale pause, and her eyes wander. "Sasuke... at least." She hesitates upon the name.

Ruby seethes and blusters all over her sister's soft words. " _Yeah_ , but the _ninjas_ already said no! I am still _so_ peeved at stupid Sasuke shooting me down! Literally he _told_ me one time he only does relationships for looks, doesn't pay any attention to a girl's personality—and he says no to _me_! I _know_ he thinks I'm hot, I _do_ , anyone can tell! So _why—_ "

"It's _ob_ vious he was lying, Sapphire rushes to counter. "He _wants_ to only care about a girl's body, so maybe he just accidentally fell in love or something? I dunno... I mean, falling in love is a smidge annoying since you get so attached to that person, and all."

Torner, trying to follow the conversation and failing, coughs. "W-Wouldn't it be funny if Sasuke'd fallen in love with your sister?"

A _flinch_ spreads across Ruby's face, as it steadily loses all sense of color, who turns to her sister like she trusts Torner more than her.

Curiously, Sapphire goes a little quieter. "Wh-What? S-Stop looking at me like that, sis, I wouldn't do that. He's off limits, remember?"

"O-Off limi—"

"Of course you wouldn't get it." Sapphire fixates on her bathrobe, picking a speck of lint out of it. "We agreed not to steal a guy we both had interest in from each other. I mean, I guess it'd be fine for me to ask Sasuke out too, since _Ruby already did_ , even though I _told_ her I liked him, back before he turned out to be an ass, and all, but... still...

"Ugh, what are you, our little brother? I literally feel like you're our big-eyed little brother and this is the second time I've ever spoken to you." Instead of finishing that sentiment, Sapphire returns to her food.

Huffing, Ruby follows suit.

Torner already ate his eggs and now has no idea what to do. They were, uh, they were pretty good eggs. Not, uh, not bad. Not bad eggs. Uh.

Well now he knows so much dirt on the fancy nancy wardens. Isn't that funny? _Man_... He gets up for a second, lightheaded, and wanders back over to the food. Not because he's hungry, or anything, but...

He was right. Behind the food, in the wall, there's a gap where it all must get sent out. And to the side there's a door, which probably leads to the kitchens. Torner goes into the door like he works in the kitchens, and immediately he runs straight into a large fellow.

The large fellow jolts in place, pulling his giant cook's hat over his head, smoothing over his lacy apron. Torner stares at him, this large fellow with the cool disheveled brown hair and—the muscles! Geez, he's as ripped as a dude in ARMS.

Suddenly Torner is inspired, but he remembers that's not why he's here.

"Uh." He sort of... taps the large fellow. "D-Did you guys... make the eggs?"

The large fellow, large but quiet, murmurs, "Rocky," pressing a hand to his chest. "Rocky made eggs."

"Oh uh." His voice is _so cool_. He sounds like a _wrestler_. Torner tries very hard to contain his feelings. "Th-Thank you for making the eggs, Rocky."

This funny, cute smile addresses Rocky's thick face. "Welcome. Rocky got eggs from raptors. In garden! You no see garden? You see garden sometime. Nice, nice garden."

Torner nods incomprehensibly. He can't shake the realization that he's met an ARMS character in real life.

Then from the side approaches this girl around Torner's age. Short blonde hair around her face, soft blue eyes, greenish in the middle, little smile. "Hey there! Whatchu doin' back here? Yer, uh, technically not supposed to be here." She gives Rocky a hard glance. "Was it you? Did'ja let this stray in?"

"Maybe." Rocky makes a funny, cute giggle.

Wait Torner's a stray?

"Pshaw. Nah ya di'n't." The girl pulls up her sleeve and proffers a hand to Torner. "Name's Daisy! Rocks 'n I, we go way back. We work in the gardens together! But uh, but anyways, the plan is to get our wardens license while we're here, soooo, see ya round sometime?

Torner, staring at her hand, tentatively slaps it. She breaks into a huge smile and fist bumps him in the shoulder. "I like this feller. What's yer name, stray?

Feeling weirdly foreign, Torner mumbles some words that manage to string together in a faint recollection of his name. She nods all happily. "Well. I'll try'n remember that. I like yew, stray."

And they escort him out just like that. Wow. From his pocket, Lysandre brings to mind the fact that Torner literally just thanked someone he doesn't even know for making eggs, and that makes him feel weird, so he ignores it.

Daisy was nice though? Not like, wow, she's cute, nice, but just nice. Pleasant.  
Maybe she'll be a warden someday. That'd be cool.

Okay _no_ she's definitely cute though.

Man Stryker recruits wardens from literally everywhere. Elite agency? Pffffhh— _Pshaw_.

Upon returning to the table, Torner overhears the sisters bickering over some attractive man who always wears a mask, because Ruby bets if she dated him she'd see his face—and if she saw him she'd say he's hot, and Sapphire's like, you're never going to date him first of all, and second of all you have no idea whether he's hot or not.

And she likes Sasuke? Well, both of them, yeah, but Sapphire in particular. And _she_ won't ask _him_ out cuz of _Ruby_ , and _he_ won't ask _her_ out because no idea. Because he's a scrub. He's related to Torner so he probably is one honestly.

Ruby beckons over to the thirteen-year-old, places her hand by his seat, asks him how he's doing, and all. He kind of... shakes his head, makes up an excuse about having to call his girlfriend, ducks on out of there.

Man. He keeps making friends with people, but then he also keeps meeting people who don't like him, or who he doesn't like. It's almost like he's playing a video game, except actually it's real life.

Lysandre breaks out into laughter from his pocket.

Finally, finding himself a nice alcove, Torner tunes into his tracker and scrolls through his contacts.

…

"Torner? What's... up?"

He's sitting on one of the bridges, at the edge, throwing rocks into one of the lotus ponds. He told her it's called Lantern Lake, and she pronounced it so cutely, because she pronounces everything so cutely.

She's trying to teach him how to skip rocks, but at some point he got bored. Now his head is on her shoulder, and she's very soft and warm.

From the other end of the world, tucked into his ear, his brother's voice fills him: "Okay, so, fun story, I maybe told Ruby I have a girlfriend. Now I need to find a girl who can pretend to be my girlfriend. I-I mean _technically_ I said we'd been in an arranged marriage since childhood, but I figured I could make it work as long as I've got a pretend girlfriend."

Hanzo snorts. He murmurs, "Go on," the evening sunlight twinkling through the thick trees, leaving tiny pockets of bright color nestled within mottled shade. Duna, clutching a rock, tosses it and watches it skim once, twice, three times before not even sinking but landing on a bit of shoreline. Her eyes get all twinkly when she does it, and Hanzo asks her to do it again.

He likes watching her when she does something that makes her eyes all twinkly like that.

"Sooooo. I was thinking, since I don't know a lot of girls who are both date-able and single, I have to, uh, think fast."

"Okay." Hanzo stifles his snicker.

His brother swallows. "Wooooould it be okay if we pretend Duna's my girlfriend?' Dhh—Does he hear Hanzo's intake? "She doesn't hate me, ri-right? I-I mean I know she knows you better of course... b-but I'm your brother! So it's _fine_! I mean I dunno how long we'd pretend, maybe until I got an actual girlfriend, but...

Hanzo focuses on his breathing, his eyes shut, his body stiff. She feels it and she gently presses a hand to his shoulder. It feels nice, but...

"Ha-Hanzo? You still there?"

But...

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here."

"Then why'd you get all quiet? Duna's been in stone for a _zillion_ years! There's no way she likes anyone yet, right? Plus, the wardens are all _weird_ , and...

His brother's not an idiot. "What's wrong?" _Then_ it hits him. "Is she already dating someone? Bhhh— _Who_?"

Kind of oblivious though, his little brother. Hah.

Hanzo opens his eyes. He leans into his companion, his voice level.

"Me."

It's suddenly hard to breathe. Harder to breathe than it ever has been.

His brother squeaks. "You _like_ someone?! You've _literally_ never dated a _single_ person before _ever_!"

"Yeah. I... I know." He stares into the lake. His reflection, and Duna's, stare back. "She's really cool though. I never met anyone as cool as her before. So I never... d-dated anyone. Before her."

Why is it so hard to say?

"Oh, um... ne-never mind then! I'll make Mei Lan do it or something! Ah-Ahaha...ha...

"Bro, why... didn't you tell me?"

Hanzo... straightens. "I don't know. We haven't told anyone else." He tries to remember how to breathe. "Uh... sorry."

"Ye-Yeah, well—" Without even letting himself finish, Torner's tracker disconnects.

Hanzo stares at the nothing in front of him.

Duna nudges him. "That was..."

"Torner. It was Torner. He..." A small, strange smile flickers over the ninja's face. "He wanted you to pretend to be his girlfriend, because he... told... the wrong person... that he had one."

"Pfff..." Politely, Duna covers her lips. "Wh-Why did he tell someone he had a girlfriend? That is a very sudden thing to... make-believe."

He can't look at her straight. Shakes his head, still smiling. "You're right. It is. He told this woman he has a girlfriend because this woman is very lonely, and she wants to live her life with someone else, a sentiment which scared my little brother. She also wants someone else who has money, for their money, so don't feel too bad for her, Duna. That part probably scared him too. Heh..." He lowers his gaze.

Duna, tucking her fingers under his chin, tilts his head up toward hers. Her scales, soft and blue, dance along his. The sensation of heat suffuses throughout his body, all from the tip of her finger. "Poor Torner..." Small laugh. "So he wished for _me_ to be his girlfriend? But that did not end very well for him, because we...

She closes her eyes, letting out a low sigh. The lotus flowers in the pond stir in circles, brushed by the breeze. "He reminds me of... Dino, too. Y-You both do, a little. Ahaha... Only Dino could get himself cornered in such a predicament." She draws off, glimpses again the ninja's shy gaze. "You... do not... _just_ remind me of Dino. Just... a little."

Hanzo nods at the water. His reflection wobbles, then flashes momentarily into a whirlpool of misguided color when he kicks a rock in through the head.

"I really... do like you, Hanzo."

"Y-Yeah. I know. Sorry, this is all very..." he grunts, returning to the dinaurian girl. "It's very new for me. I-I still feel weird. Never really thought I'd... end up..."

"Heh..." She gently tugs him into an embrace. Her chin digs into that niche between his shoulder and his head, and he exhales, the smile clutching his lips.

"But—um..." Hanzo remembers himself, remembers where he is, and he clasps the girl between his arms. "I should've told Torner. I think he feels like I'm avoiding him... I, ah, it's been some time since we saw each other. Before all of... this."

A small knowing smile blooms upon Duna's lips. "I know! We should go play video games with him! Ah—Ahaaah... he really loves video games..."

"Yeah, he... does, huh..." He rests his head against hers, threading a pale hand through her bright pink hair. "Hnn... that's not a bad idea. He'd... like it if we did that, I bet...

But just... a little longer. "I like... holding you... like this. S-Sorry if I'm really bad at it."

"Heh. You are fine, you are fine..."

But they do find Torner, and they do play video games with him, and they do make his brother's freaking day. Just... a little later.


	22. That One Girl

Backwoods

22: That One Girl

Is this illegal?

I-It's not though... is it?

His eyes frantic green lights in the surrounding goop of shadow, Torner glances around the blackness of the building, his back pressed firmly against it like he's trying to shrink within the shade.

O-Oh come on, he can do this. He's done so many other messed up things already, and this one's so... puny. It's n-not like standing around in the dark is illegal. Looking suspicious might be, o-or _loitering_. But Torner's not a bad guy... so Torner won't loiter.  
The only problem is he doesn't know what loitering means, so he could literally be breaking the law right now and none the wiser.

Finally, forcing the heart in his chest to move, the breaths in his mouth to pump down his throat, the tears in his eyes to _not_ tremble on his cheeks, Torner catapults himself the rest of the way into the world gate for a fun, sickening jump in the space time continuum. Then when he lands he looks up, in fear of who might be staring down upon him.

But there is no Violet, and of course there's no Drake. Come on Torner, it wasn't even that long ago since the last time you came in here. You—You almost fought a t-rex _bare handed_ this morning after Lysandre got punched across the clearing, and her skull thwacked a tree really hard, and—and you're still here today.

Thinking about the t-rex makes him want to die, though, so maybe it's not his best move.

But this is... oh gosh. _This_ is where she lives, right? She sent him the fun message, and all, so why would... why would it steer him wrong, r-right? U-Unless she's not as cool as she looks, of course.

But okay. Okay. He sucks in a deep breath and stuffs it down alongside his feelings, then tucks his shirt into his pants like a big boy would. He straightens his back one more time and steps out into the open, fully aware of the darkness enclosing amongst him, swallowing him up within a nexus of torturous null. This must be what it feels like to be blind— _geeeeeez_ it sucks. Torner heard once from Sasuke or someone that there was this blind and deaf vivosaur who was super powerful and beat up some sort of ancient monster vivosaur or some junk like that, and that's cool and all, but Torner's just not that accomplished, so.

Sparing a single glance behind him, his gaze flashing, he ducks into a back door of the Midell headquarters—unlocked, as she said it would be. S-So that means either she is not trying to screw him over or some idiot left it unlocked.

Wow, he's _freak_ ing paranoid.

Up a dusty flight of stairs, through a narrow corridor, past the ugly portrait of some old man who was maybe important back before he died—she'd pointed that out too, said his name was Richmond or something but _who cares—_ and just a little further through an abysmal trial some old fool, maybe the one on the wall, decided to call trust.

On the... left? Y-Yeah, that's the door that's unlocked, so either it's left or Torner's screwed. Or maybe he's screwed either way, at all times of the day, every day, forever.

His two vivosaurs—of course he left Rasa at home—whom he'd kept in his pockets like lucky charms, all let out little _what an idiot_ sighs. They are not reassuring whatsoever.

Once he's stepped inside the chamber, the overpowering stench of—like that smell after it rains, sort of moldy sort of _wet dog—_ flows over him. Coughing, Torner pinches his nose, disappointed to find out that this little trick does not help much when the smell of moldy wet dog instead pervades his mouth. He takes turns breathing through his nose and mouth until he stops consciously breathing and looking like the idiot he is.

Torner passes through a hallway crafted entirely from giant green fronds. When he reaches out to touch one, it shrinks back, and this papery, wispy sensation disappears from under his outstretched fingers. Past and behind them, if he squints, he can catch little plots that must be for... well, they _must_ be for _another type of plant_ , that's what! _Wow_!

Torner has no idea what the heck he's looking at. Actually those plots could be a _couch_ for all he knows.

Thankfully, before he loses his mind, a hand taps his shoulder. He whips his head over only to find nobody—and feel a tap on his other shoulder, only to turn the other way and still find nobody. This goes on for much longer than it probably should. Once it's become clear that Torner isn't going to get it, he feels two hands, one on each of his shoulders, and he gets spun around to face a certain golden-haired girl.

When the smile hits her face, a wave of sunshine, her cheeks dimple. That has to be the most magical thing Torner's seen all day, and he watched himself fight a t-rex bare handed today. But anyways it's freaking cute. Then Torner realizes that _she_ is cute, just like every other girl in the universe it seems. This is both annoying and kind of awesome.

But cute girls are always mean, so he'd better get his guard up quick.  
Instead, his back caves inward to a slouch.

"Heh." He flushes. She laughs again. "Well, I'm happy it worked."

Torner begins to question why he decided to come out here in the middle of their night, early in Regis's morning, after all.

Oh that means the t-rex was _yesterday_ , doesn't it. _Man_ , what does time even mean these days? It's just a social construct made by Stryker to force all his wardens on some semblance of a structure, so he can pretend for once in his life that he actually fosters control over something, anything at all.

We-Well anyways, it's clear he came out here in the middle of their night because of a cute girl. Essentially, he is a thirteen-year-old ball of hormones. He detects Gremaine of all his vivosaurs at the start of a quip and chooses not to listen to it. Screw you, Gremaine.

"Yew, uh, still there? Torner?"

"Whubuhh?" He shakes himself, as smooth as he feels, as smooth as a goyle with extra spines. "Yeah! Uh, I'm also very relieved it worked. I was kind of terrified that things would go badly, but then they didn't go badly, so uh... that's... good..." Thinking about it makes him feel jittery, so, uh, time to change the subject.

He pointedly faces the line of plots which may actually be a couch. "This is the... garden you really liked?"

Daisy jumps at the opportunity, one of her hands still on Torner's shoulder. The latter pretends her hand does not feel nice and it very much does not work. "Yeeeup! It's pretty cool. Y'all wardens ain't supposed to be'n here cuz yer all messes, and Head Gardener Dorcas thinks y'all will actually destroy everything if yer let in. But I trust yew! Plus, I'm here, so we'll be all good."

"W-Wow, that's a lot of trust." Torner was never given this much trust before. At least, not by someone this _cute_. Oh geez. "I feel... honored?" And a little scared. But anyways, that's not the most important question to ask:

"So uhmmm. Daisy? How old are you? Just uh, just wondering."

She snorts. "I'm thirteen?"

Oh _frick._ She is the perfect age. _Torner's_ age.

Torner squints at her, heart slamming into his chest, a metal-lanced mallet clanging up and down the xylophone of his ribcage, waiting and waiting for the cute freckled girl with the dimples on her smiling cheeks to turn into some sort of monstrous vivosaur even worse than Rasa. When she doesn't, he waits to wake up, and he doesn't.

The cacophonous calamity in his chest merely melts into a crescendo.

Torner's knees go weak.

To disguise his shaking hands, he stuffs one in his pocket and the other runs through his stupid, spiny hair. He totally spiked it up extra before he left, and he's trying so hard to play it off as cool, and as far as he can tell he is literally the opposite, the ugly-younger-cousin sheer antithesis, of cool. "S-So. Sorry for asking that, I-I know it's a weird question, uhmm...

"I-It's just, I'm thirteen too. So I thought that was, uh, c-cool."

She gives him this look that makes him feel like the monstrous vivosaur even worse than Rasa. Makes him feel _silly_. "Pfff, ya think so? That's kinda cute."

oh no. no he's not going for cute.

oh no no no.

Staring as far away from Daisy as he can get, into the soul of this purple, fleshy plant, Torner blurts, "S-S-Soooo what's that thing?" and he points at it really intently.

And again, Daisy snorts, and it's cute, and that scares him. "Eggplant. Don't they look like _giant noses_? Hahaha... My dad'd always say that, and then he'd like, compare it to our faces. It was funny." Shakes her head. "They're good! Well, I mean, all plants're good. Veggies 'n berries 'n—oooooh! We have a li'l hutch in the back for some ornos and, and they have eggs! Rocky's super good at takin' care of them—and that's where yer eggs came from. We hatch our successes from the best up in 'ere!"

She stands up tall, her hands on her hips, her chin held high, as she says it. Very... proud, of what she cares about.

Torner notes her—like Sapphire—in her pajama pants, patterned with this colorful leaf print, and an old graphic tee with some corny joke he doesn't get because he's Torner, her curly golden hair dancing about her head. _And_ she's barefoot, and she's standing here, perhaps the strongest, proudest person he's ever seen, and she's not even a warden—yet.

And he tried so hard in his jeans and his now-crumpled tropical shirt. The one with the flamingos. Awkwardly tucked into his belt, partially sticking out.  
Ah man.

He lets Daisy lead him around the giant enclosure in a hushed darkness only pockmarked by the natural-light lightbulbs used for some of the special plants that need more sun, as she puts it. Up above them, a shimmery glass domed ceiling keeps the rest of the world blocked out, little stars peeking down through the barrier. Eventually he does get used to the smell, which apparently is made from the mist they use to water the plants but also the fertilizer, home-made and usually not smelly unless the newbies are on the job. So basically blame the newbies, which Torner is fine with until he remembers that _he_ is a newbie in the warden universe and he bets someone in the system is currently blaming problems on him. The newbie.

The realization sort of shocks him into a standstill.

As Daisy shows him over to the plots which hold newly-sprouted berries and are decidedly _not_ brown couches, Torner feels the tugging in his throat, his all too well-known urge, to say something stupid. But he's gotten a little better at this, so he at least catches the thought between his hands and _thinks_ about it first, though maybe he hasn't learned much because in the end he blurts, "Y-You're not secretly really mean, or petty, or something, a-are you?

Slowly, Daisy turns to face him. Her eggshell blue eyes widen, and her brow furrows. The sparse lighting sends tiny glowing starbursts into her hair, across her shadowy cheeks, skipping like shooting stars through her pupils. Quickly Torner backpedals, tries to reason with his freaking stupid self. "I-I just, every time I meet a nice girl... she turns out mean, or angry—l-like short-tempered, or... petty, or greedy, or something. They're never just nice. So, I, uh..." He flushes, angrily. "S-Sorry, that was probably not the right thing to say."

Despite him, her little smile wavers on her darkened lips. "Y-Yeah, that really was not the right thing to say." Maybe if she'd just gotten it over with and punched him in the stomach, it would've hurt less. "But I... guess ya don't know better, huh? Ya don't seem like yew knew a lot of girls. Heh. Uh..." Distractedly, her fingers dart through her hair, her eyes shooting into a dim corner.

"Yer not gonna _find_ a girl who's just nice, Torner. Girls aren't just nice, same as boys." Her gaze sneaks once toward him and then veers off again. Her cheeks are a little red, like she's been sunburned. Except she hasn't, he knows she hasn't. Nature freaking loves her too much for that. "I mean, sure. Some people're nicer'n others, I guess. But if ya keep lookin' for someone who's only just nice, then yer lookin' for someone who'll never exist, not if they're bein' true to 'emself."

Torner winces. "I-I know that, o-obviously that's..."

No he didn't. You'd think he would because that's freaking obvious, but no _of course he didn't_. Wow, this is, holy _goodness_ , this is horrible.

And it kind of is, though.

Swallowing, he mumbles, "Sorry," and then bites into his lip and adds, "I really wasn't thinking, that's—...I-I'm just sorry. That's all I should be saying, s-sorry."

She shakes her head, her smile somehow still present, because in the end she really is just a nice, authentic person. And he just freaking _screwed_ that up, because in the end he really is just himself. "Nah it's... ya prolly didn't know much better. Yer... I-I get it. I mean, s'not like yew can just be cute all the time neither." Then she laughs, softly, and she mutters, "Well at least yew know now." Closes her eyes, like she's suddenly very, very tired.

"Sorry if you really hate me now. B-But I mean, I totally deserve it for—"

"Nah..." she waves it off, her lips upturned, a soft moue, "nah, it's..." draws off, thinking, somewhere far away from one little garden nestled beneath the night sky. "Ya just, people just wanna be loved, is all, y'know? That's prolly all it is." She shrugs. "I still like yew. Yer not horrible, er nothin. Just... innocent. Ya don't know much. I've been threwgh a lot, so I know a little more, maybe." She pinches the thumb and forefinger one of her hands, holding it out in front of him. "Just a... little bit more, though."

Well. All he knows is freaking video games, so—

It turns out _Lysandre_ is _right_ doesn't it. Right about everything. Freaking...

Torner shakes his head. "S-Sorry about that though. You can, uh, leave if you want to."

"Yer all _cute_ though..." Daisy pouts, and his heart bounces off his _stu_ pid _xy_ lophone ribcage and _flies_ through the ceiling.

Torner does not know how to feel any more. His heart—like, like it's _gone_ , so... _like..._

Lucky for him, he doesn't have a chance to worry about it for long. Just like that, a person's _flung_ down through the skies and breaks a freaking _giant person-sized hole_ through the glass domed ceiling and lands like _oof_ on top of the eggplants. Then Torner recognizes him and beings a whole new round of his screeching.

"SASUKE WHAT THE—WHAT ARE YOU—"

The limber, lithe ninja hops onto his feet like he did not just fall through the ceiling. He snaps a hand and an almost-invisible rope snakes back into his glove, which must've made his fall slower or something, but heck if it looked like he should be dead right now. Brushing himself off, his cropped white hair billowing, speckled with red, a gash on his neck bleeding, staining his black scarf an ugly bruise color, Sasuke calmly strides over to the pair of thirteen-year-olds.

" _Torn_ er! God, how long's it been, man?" Even behind the scarf, he's loud, overconfident, kind of slick. Daisy's gaze jumps between the cousins, her face a mask of quiet confusion. "Good to _see_ you again!"

Like that, Torner's older cousin clasps a hand on his shoulder and then promptly _pulls_ him in Sasuke's direction.

Glimpsing once his pajama-clad buddy, Sasuke sneers in a low tone, "Lose the chick, bro. I am going to need your help driving the _hell_ out of here because I am pretty sure my wrist is broken and I've driven one-handed before. It sucks." Then he glances up at Daisy, head pumping into some sort of slick half-nod, and says, "Good even, pretty dame. Sorry to say it, but I'm stealing your little boyfriend. I need his help with something."

Daisy stares down at this suave jerk with all the nerve mustered in her. Her mouth upturns into a glorious frown. "Yeah, I don't think I'm gon' let yew order me 'round like so. Yer gonna hafta tell me somethin' at the very least, mister _kidnapping ninja_." Her hand jolts up to her ear, where her tracker is fastened. "Tell me the truth now or I'm gon' snap a photo of yew."

"Aw fuck she's smart." Sasuke grunts under his breath. "I hate it when chicks try to be smart, they make me think."

Torner stares at his older cousin in abject horror. "Girls are people too, you know."

"Yeah but usually I can sneak away with my hotness powers and all. Too bad you don't have much or maybe you'd understand. I suppose you still have a few years thou—"

"YOU ARE ACTUALLY HORRIBLE, OH MY _GOODNESS_. NO WONDER SAPPHIRE HASN'T ASKED YOU OUT."

And _here_ , Sasuke's face tightens. "What the _fuck_ did you just—"

"I SAID, NO WONDER SAPPHIRE HASN'T ASKED YOU OUT!"

His older cousin glares down at him for a second, the dismisses him. "I'm not gonna ask how you know about that just yet." Long sigh. "First, smartass chick. Then, buggy. _Then_...

But he returns to the Daisy at hand. "Okay. Sorry about whatever attitude I gave you just now. Blame it on the fact that I'm an ass and be done with it." He forcefully enunciates himself as he continues: "I am taking my younger cousin with me so that he can drive me home. My wrist is most likely broken, so I can _not_ drive myself." He grunts. "There. Happy?"

"Uh, not really." Daisy can tell enough, after it's been spoken, that Torner and Sasuke are relatives, but she's not as stupid as Sasuke hopes. Gosh, the more he's in her presence, the freaking more Torner admires her. "Why'd ya hafta break the ceilin'?"

"Because I'm in a bit of a time crunch," Sasuke snaps, but at least he refrains from cursing. "My wrist is _probably_ broken, which was true _before_ I landed here, and I kind of absolutely need to get home so I can fix it or at least get it looked at before I chase after Stryker, who is about to get us into a very hairy situation. Now _please_ let my younger cousin and I go."

But Daisy's still not done. Pointedly, she fixates her watery gaze upon her friend. "Torner, do yew _want_ tew help 'im? Ya don't hafta just cuz he said ya do."

Oh.

Why did he never think of that..? Not... Not once, not when the wardens told him to drive through Starry Falls when he'd never driven a buggy before, not when Dahlia made him fix hers, not when Liu Ren asked him to be nice to his daughter, _not once_.

It's like his conscience rose up within him and reminded him how to speak in a wave of acidic energy. Suddenly Torner's breathing, and suddenly Torner's seeing, and suddenly this girl he just met two or three days ago has irreversibly altered his life forever.

Like he was a robot, a video game, a _program_ , and now his heart is—

"Come on let's go bro." Sasuke casually slaps a shuriken between his younger cousin's shoulder blades. "Let's not draw this out any longer than we already have. My wrist is actually on fire." Which one? The one holding the shuriken plastered against his younger cousin's back, or the one grasping his younger cousin's hand and pulling him stealthily away?

Daisy's still looking at him, her eyes little glowing stars. And she's so _cute_ , and he feels so _bad_ , but now his fear is talking for him and he goes, "Ye-Yeah yeah yeah I'm fine I'll see you later _thanks for being a really nice person—_ "

And then Sasuke low-key drags him out the garden doors.

 **Maybe in the next chapter we'll learn which wrist sasuke broke**


	23. Literally This Feels so Illegal

**Alrighty, time to find out which wrist Sasuke has broken**

 **also, I just played around on Frontier to remember the layout of Where Sasuke and Torner Are Going and yiiiikes I did not realize Lysandre was a neutral, not a fire, vivosaur. Oops.  
Uhm she's a fire vivosaur. Yep.**

Backwoods

23: Literally This Feels so Illegal

Torner is hurled through the world gate and lands on his butt. Then it turns out his older cousin still isn't done, because _then_ he gets dragged into the buggy garage, slapped into the front seat of a low, black one, and forcefully thrown the directions of some place called Autumn Garden. It's difficult to imagine Sasuke living somewhere as pretty-sounding as Autumn Garden, but Torner supposes that sometimes things of great beauty are nurtured out of corruption.

Isn't that _sad_?

Unfortunately, Torner doesn't have long to dwell on the true capacity humans harbor for destruction. Sasuke loudly dunks his feet on top of the dashboard and clears his bloodied-sounding throat. "Okay bro. All you have to do is stay on the road. See?" And with either his broken or his not broken wrist, the ninja points his hand in the direction of a dusky path.

It's like stupid in the morning. It was stupid at night, back in Midell, so of _course_ they couldn't go to Ilum, where Becky and Sean are hanging out, in the _day_ time, being _cool._ Nope.

Torner, feeling stupid, stares down the darkness. Then his cousin reminds him how to turn on the headlights. His face red, Torner numbly flips the little fob.

A white-hot sheen spills across the worn, gravel road. As the light stretches, he squints across the pathway and notes, way far back, it turns in on itself. "Uh, wh-whose idea was it to make a big winding road here," he mumbles, "cu-cuz that's _annoying_..."

"Wrong dig site." Sasuke releases a giant yawn, louder than ninjas probably should be. "If you wanna see a winding road, go to Winding Road. _Ha_ ha."

"That's not funny," Torner mutters, but of course his older cousin doesn't care and also wasn't listening.

Revving up Sasuke's low, black buggy—its engine _vvvVVVRRRRR_ s like Dahlia's racecar which scares the _heck_ out of Torner—he slowly makes his way down the road. A second like this passes in a silence that balances precariously between the cousins until Sasuke groans loudly. "Drive _faster_ , god dammit. When I said _time crush_ , I meant it! _Geez_."

Torner considers driving the buggy off the edge of the road and into the river.

Unfortunately for him, he still values his own life, so he doesn't. Lysandre mutters something like _please chill out_ in his pocket, her voice a comforting mom-hum.

Soon the challenge becomes _not_ falling off the edge of the road and into the river. Torner feels the buggy _shudder_ when he tries to speed up, as the entire engine shoves itself forward. Also, every single time he so much as taps the dirt cliffs encircling the road's edge, the stupid buggy freaks out on him and he nearly falls off the edge, at the other side of this stupid winding road, anyways. The fun part is when Sasuke calls him out for it _every single time it happens_ , even after he thought his older cousin had drifted off to sleep, his narrowed catlike gaze softening just so. And he laughs, too. Really loudly.

Man. Suddenly Torner is so grateful for his overly successful older brother who at the very least isn't a scrub. Well, at least Torner now knows which side of the family it came from.

When he veers the buggy back onto the road and then slams it against a wall, Sasuke's guffaws lancing like swords in the buggy, Torner remembers he has his own ammo. "Soooo," he starts, dipping the buggy into a dimly-lit tunnel, "why haven't you asked out Sapphire yet?"

Sasuke promptly bumps his head against the ceiling of his low buggy. "Fucking..." His sour grimace returns. "I don't know. Because it's none of your business?"

Torner giggles, momentarily enjoying himself. "Yeah, but... but she likes you. She said so." Well not really but still. "She said she deserves to ask you out, cuz—cuz Ruby already asked you out, so it was her turn. But she doesn't."

"Well, it's because I'm an ass," his older cousin concedes. "I am an ass, so there is very little reason for a chick such as she to waste her time upon me."

"Uhhhh." Torner rams into the wall... and his cousin doesn't reply. Cool. He jerks the buggy out of the tunnel, nearly falls into the river again, and manages to catch himself last second. Still no response. "So why don't you just stop being a... a butt?" Very clever, Torner.

A snort from the passenger seat. Sasuke has curled up into a ball, his back facing his younger cousin, the sullen old sourpuss he is. "It's kind of hard to stop being an ass when it's part of who you are, you know."

"Okay." Torner tries to stare straight ahead, but his eyes keep wandering back to his cousin. He hasn't seen the dude in freaking years. Was he always this... way? Or... what? "But Sapphire still likes you."

Sasuke just kind of goes "okay" all quietly.

"Ruby likes you too. She's mad at you, cuz you won't date her."

His cousin concedes a low chortle. "That's funny..." A sudden pause. "Wait, how the hell do you know all of this?"

Torner feels his chest puffing out, even though literally nobody can see it. "Cuz—Cuz they told me! Cuz I'm special."

"Pfffff. Torner, have you changed at all?"

He flushes. "Y-Yeah I have! I've changed a lot!"

"Okay." Sasuke's head makes a little bob-nod. "Then name one way you've changed since back when I last saw you as a little kiddo."

Oof. Moment of truth. "I've... changed... innnnn..." Well. He's, uh, he's taller. Oh! "I'm taller!" Perfect, there's _no_ way Sasuke can—

"Are you seriously still that naive? _Torn_ er, Torner..." He titters softly, annoyingly.

Torner pouts. "Well I _am_ taller." He glares out the window, thinking furiously. Then he— _Then_ he remembers her. "I, uh, I also know that nobody in the universe is just nice."

An explosion of chortles comes flying out of the ninja. While he's laying there, all curled up, he's begun to pull off his bloodied scarf. Untied and tossed unceremoniously to the floor, he continues with his gloves, and his shirt. All of his black clothes stained in his own failures. "Well, _good_. I don't know _why_ you'd think that in the first place. Not like we had enough of an upbringing to make any of us _think_ that way at _all_."

"Well, I just, y'know, I _wanted_ to think some people were just nice."

"Okay, okay..." Sasuke... sighs. "I could see that." Grunts. "I mean, yeah, I get that." Leans back a little in his seat, shifting so that he's looking out the window. His stupid bloody shirtless body just sort of hanging out, in the open, for every last Torner to see. "Well, _I_ wanted to think that some person out there would change me for the better.

And he sighs again. Longer, softer. "But she just makes me feel sorry for myself, and then I get mad. And then instead of getting better I get worse, like if I hide myself in my work I'll at least have something to show for myself. Even if it came from illegal means, at least I can point it out to people, say, _I_ did that. It was me."

"Oh..." Torner stares for a while out the side window. Then he realizes he stopped driving at one point and hurriedly starts the buggy back up. "Well, maybe we all have something to learn from."

" _Ha_..." Sasuke shakes his head. "You know what, Torner? You're damn right."

Then he rounds a bend and a _boulder_ falls out of nowhere, forcing the buggy to backpedal.

Torner begins to whimper.

"Oh, fuck, uh—just keep pushing against the boulder and it'll break eventually."

And it does break eventually, but it's too late cuz so did Torner's self-esteem.

Luckily for Torner's self-esteem, the boy zooms the buggy fast enough that they escape before another boulder crushes it even further. And as he rounds past that last bend and the sun breaks against a mountain far off in the distance, there stands before him the most gorgeous and most hideous structure he has ever seen.

Surrounded by the petals of warm-colored trees, backlit with a pink sky, a partly-built castle looms down upon the thirteen-year-old. Scarlet scaffolding inlaid with gold shimmers upon the functioning roof, and two maple-wood walls painted white protect the massive structure from collapse.

But the other two walls? There are, uh, pieces of wood holding up the slots where they should be. Torner can take a couple quick glimpses into the house from these walls and these rooms are _not_ very furnished whatsoever. Also the windows are like giant gaping holes into another dimension, and somehow it's horrifying.

Other than that it looks okay though. Warily, Torner plunks himself out of the buggy. He takes a nice long stretch that compensates for the five million thoughts going through his head. When the passenger side's door clicks open, Torner peeks over his shoulder to watch his older cousin carefully use his _left_ hand as support, his _left_ hand to shut the buggy.

Hmm.

Which hand was it? Torner's not smart enough to remember which hand was which earlier, but he can't really imagine how his older cousin could hold a shuriken to someone's back _or_ snag their wrist in a freaking tight grip. Maybe the shuriken? He supposes Sasuke'd just have to hold it against Torner's back, not like put a bunch of force into it, to get the point across. Haha _point_. Ha...

Torner would literally be a heap of wheezing sobs on the floor right now if he'd broken _his_ wrist, though. So, uh. Good thing _he_ didn't.

He darts over to his older cousin. "S-S-Soooo what now?" His head bobs in the direction of the clearly unfinished structure in front of them.

"Yeah, so..." Sasuke's hand rests behind the back of his neck. The other one lies eerily still by his side. "I just was gonna... grab a sling. I have a... few." He grumbles. "Since I've... done this before and all. And then, once I've grabbed my trusty sling, we will head back out."

Torner cringes. "Maybe you should put on a shirt too. Ju- _Just_ saying."

"Ha!" His older cousin rolls his eyes. The shadows from the castle fall onto his face so that light has yet to hit it, sliding into the disgusting curvature of his bloodied, beaten chest. "Don't like what you see?"

Torner folds his arms over himself and pouts—pouts hard. "Nnnnope." Then he sort of glares up at Sasuke, cuz now Sasuke's freaking stalling, come on.

With a shrug in his step, his older cousin leisurely ambles on into his unfinished home—unless this isn't his home and he's just planning on robbing it. Well. While Torner waits, he finds himself a nice little rock to sit on. This dump was covered in concrete at some point, so he actually has to take a second to search before he sees any rocks. It turns out the rock is pointy and annoying, but it also turns out that Torner no longer cares. He is—He is exhausted and ready to go to bed, but apparently he doesn't get to because Sasuke needs him to drive.

Ugh, how long do wrists even take before they get fixed? Two years? Geeeeez. Torner stares angrily up at the sunrise like it's the fault of all the beautiful things in the world for letting him get stuck in another dumb situation.

Rays of sunlight sluice past the mountains, raining down upon the castle in a quickly-gathering storm of light, illuminating its majesty and also patheticness.

Then he remembers what Daisy told him. His heart thuds in his chest.

He could totally dart into the buggy and drive off without Sasuke. Where would he go? Home, then bed, _then_ sleep. Then maybe by the time he got up he'd be—oh—he'd be living with whatever Stryker decided to do this time. Something important enough for Sasuke to try and fix, even though his wrist was already broken.

Why do the wardens have to have so many problems? In _video games_ , the good guys are just the good guys, and that's it.

Sasuke resurfaces, the door slamming to a close behind him. He has a gaudy pink tee on that looks like something Ruby snagged out of a clearance bin. "Yo, Torner! Let's _go_." He's got his little sling equipped, and woop-de-doo, his right arm is carefully slung within it. Torner ponders the alternate reality where Sasuke's left wrist was the broken one, but just because he's an overpowered boss, he chose to keep using it.

But Torner remembers himself, and slowly he straps back into the stupid buggy. He turns on the stupid GPS system as Sasuke plugs in the code for wherever the heck they're going, and he, with this sort of arrogance, spills his two vivosaur medals into one of the cup-holders. Lysandre doesn't even react, she's probably so done with him.

The helpful GPS tells Torner that he should turn around and go back down the giant winding road. Unfortunately for him, Sasuke is apparently better than the GPS, because he tells Torner to go around the castle and _shoom_ down the cliff and then essentially dive into the wilderness.

Torner starts to put the buggy in reverse. Sasuke slaps his hand away from the fob. "I know what I'm doing, Torner. The GPS won't register quicker paths unless we break out of the dig site. It's trying to do that thing Stryker does where he _tyrannizes all of our freedoms._ Just," he flicks a hand forward, "keep going."

Well. Torner goes forward, swinging past the half-built castle, as his GPS begins to gently hum something about flipping a u-ie. Sucking in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, his soul releasing the softest of sighs, Torner lodges the buggy off the end of the cliff.

 _BRBRHHHHHHHHHHHHGH_.

His heart slams into the base of his feet the second the buggy shudders onto hard-packed earth. They dislodged a considerable tree on the way down, apparently, because that's what meets Torner's gaze. A bent-over tree. Wow.

What a good thing Torner is wearing his seat belt. Lysandre— _now,_ of course—begins to laugh at him.

In this utter deadpan, Sasuke taps at the GPS screen until the thing buzzes and prints out a new route. "Go straight. There'll be a river, go through it. Then somewhere up around here we turn leftish, but only sort of leftish."

"I think I died on the way down," Torner informs him.

His companion snickers, and _no wonder_ Sapphire didn't ask him out. "That's a shame. Could I get your ghost to re-enter your body so that you may continue to drive me? My wrist is still, y'know, broken, so." And just like that, the ninja stretches out and slaps his feet back on top of the dashboard. His sharp, dark gaze watches Torner carefully. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for, bro?"

You to apologize, Torner thinks about saying, except Sasuke isn't going to, because Sasuke is an utter scrub.  
Man, Sapphire saved herself from something terrible.

Shaking his head, the boy continues driving the buggy, which has yet to realize it flew down who knows how far and should be a mess of metalwork. That makes two of them. He does his best to go straight but runs over trees at Sasuke's orders to not turn at all or they'll get lost and screwed over, only going leftish once they've crossed this thick, bubbling river.

"Sooo... why is your wrist broken."

A spastic attack of chortles. Sasuke spits something like blood into his hand, and then Torner realizes, wait, that's totally blood. He rummages around Torner's side of the buggy, finds the manual, shreds out a page, wipes his mouth and hand with it.

Torner's very soul shudders.

"Well. I'd finished one of my jobs and headed back to my boss's—ahhh, what the fuck, I don't need to follow the rule of anonymity anymore. His name's Gorber Leeson, and he's a baldass _fuck_. Anyways, I go to report to him, and he's about to give me the cold hard dough, when—"

"Dough?" Torner squeals, "why are you _paid_ in—"

"God's goddamn _grand_ father, you _dumb_ ass, it's _ano_ ther word for... money! _Geeeeez_. You're so stupid."

Torner pouts at the road and mutters, "You're stupid too."

"Ah, yes, I appreciate it." Sasuke tries at a mock-bow while still coughing up blood between his chuckles. "So Baldass Leeson's got the dough on his table, when instead, he _up_ turns the table like a goddamn block _ade_ and calls in his fucking paid assassins. So what do I do? Well first I—I, ah..." He loses steam, gaze unfocused, and thinks for a hard second. "I loose one of my trusty shurikens, and, ah, it _assists_ Baldass Leeson into a nice, long rest, the kind of sleep that you never ever wake up from. Uh. Like a coma? Except your brain doesn't— _well._ Let's just say my fuck of a boss isn't gonna try'n fuck with me again. Ever.

He veers through the rest of his tangent with, "Then on the way out one of his assassins tripped me and I broke my fucking wrist, but I roped my way outta that shitass bankrupt _garbage_ dump and... well, I was gonna contact Stryker to sic on this fuck, but then I checked the tracker I clipped into Stryker's neck a few months ago, and it said he was in the middle of nowhere, and... well, I had a bad feeling.

"So. Here we are." He extends a hand toward the wilderness out the window.

Oh.

uh.

Torner opens, then plaintively closes, his mouth.

How is any of this possible. Maybe they're all dead. Maybe death is just a dream of how Torner's life was supposed to go, so that he gets to watch all the things he never got to do progress in front of him in a long, pathetic march. Maybe if he watches long enough, he will get to find out which girl he marries, or maybe he will never marry a girl ever.

Lysandre coughs from her cup-holder. _Torner, you're not dead._ Oh, okay.

Sure feels like it.

In this strange, comfortable atmosphere, Sasuke reads aloud from the GPS, and Torner steers through trees. There's enough jumbled turns that it keeps them busy, mostly, but there are lulls where Torner blurts something.

"S-So whose castle _was_ that anyways? And why's it only half-built! That's a, that's a hazard!"

A low chortle from the passenger's side. "It's mine, all mine. Not... Well, not done _yet,_ but we're gettin' there. It _should_ be done, but the guy—like I said, fucking Baldass Leeson decided not to pay me, because apparently it wasn't _good enough_." Sasuke groans. "Rich people are bitches, man. But whatever. Least _that_ particular bitch ain't gonna sneak me outta dough anytime _ever_."

Does he just stereotype everyone?

Well, uh. Torner tries to save some sort of politeness for his cousin. "I-It's nice? I-I mean, what's finished of it."

"Yeah, I guess." Sasuke stretches, letting out another groan. "I'm just _annoyed_ , though! I work my ass off for this guy, clearing out vivos and beating up people for him, y'know, _the like_ , and he just shits me right out! Damn, it's not _fair._ If I was rich, I'd be the greatest fucking person ever." Somehow Torner doubts that, but he gets the feeling he shouldn't bring _that_ up. "I'd give candy to the kiddos and, like... be nice! I don't _know_ , can't we all just be a little decent to each other?"

Torner feels another pout coming on. "You weren't very nice to Dais—"

" _Daisy_ , huh? That your girlfriend's name? Hey, I did as she asked. I told her what she wanted to hear."

Well.  
Oh that's weird. He's right.

But does that make him nice.

...Torner doesn't know.

Sasuke's tapping the GPS. "Ohp. We missed a turn. Double back a little, hard right." Torner pretends to know what this means and tries his best to make his right turn hard, his feeble thirteen-year-old hands clutching at the wheel with all he's got. Sasuke doesn't even tell him a good job. Ah well. Somehow, Torner is getting used to him.

After another silent bout, Torner moans, "How much _longer_ is it?" His butt's all cramped. Also, Sasuke said they had to go fast, and clearly this is not fast at all. At this point, would it have been faster to freaking drive the normal way?

"I dunno." Mumbling to himself, Sasuke expands the GPS pathway and follows his finger along the edge of it. "Oooh, we should be at the shorelines soon. Not too much farther, then."

Oh, okay then. Vague answer it is. "Is Hanzo gonna have to clean all this up after you're done? Stryker said he spends _alllll_ his time cleaning up your messes."

Sasuke snorts. "No, he doesn't. He only cleans up the ones Stryker sees. Then he tells me off for being sloppy and goes back to whatever the hell he spends his time doing these days." Catching Torner's stare, the ninja chuckles. "It's not that he's on my _side,_ I think he just recognizes the fact that I'm never gonna change." And while that makes Torner feel better about his brother, he still has to say that thing he always has to say when Sasuke talks like this.

"Sooooo, you're not gonna date Sapphire?"

Torner's ninja cousin glares out the window. "I don't fucking know. Shut up about that, would you?"

"Oh uh, s-sure." Torner stares absently at his feet until he remembers that he is the driver.

Finally, just pinpricks out of the trees and the grass and the shadows, little sandy shores poke out from the horizon. Torner lets out a long breath, his heart heavy with all the _tense atmosphere_ he's breathed in. He thinks about it, and he remembers what happened the last time he said something even after thinking about it, but he thinks about it more, and then he finally says, "Maybe you will date her one day. She likes you a _lot_. And you like _her_ a lot. So... maybe you'll change for each other one day."

Sasuke laughs, as he does, but it's at least not a really loud and ugly laugh. "I don't know, bro. I can hope? But I just don't know. She's a cool girl. I'm an ass."

"She doesn't think you're a—a butt," Torner lamely reprimands.

"Yeah, I guess. But I'm still an ass. And I don't wanna make her mad all the time, but I'm worried I will if we try it out, being together." A low sigh, like he's thought in circles like this for far too long, and he only ever reaches the same depressing solution. "You're too young to get all this, bro. You're doing a fuck lot better than _I_ was when _I_ was thirteen, though. Huh..." He thinks about it. "Is _that_ how old we were when Hanzo and I ditched? I don't even remember anymore. It's been too long.

"You know, the guy who raised us, sort of, and taught us about being ninjas, he's dead now. He was pretty old, so it's only what you'd expect, but still. I mean, he was cool... so it's like, damn. Life won't stop for anyone, even the cool people."

Torner glances awkwardly between driving and his emotionally tormented older cousin. "Ye-Yeah."

"Yeah." A big scowl addresses itself upon Sasuke's hooded expression. " _Yeah_. It sucks, man." His scowl, as sharp and as big as it is, slowly morphs into a pout. A quiet little pout. "What the fuck now? Am I supposed to teach _you_ how to be a ninja, pass it on? Awww, damn, I just realized that my castle would be the perfect place to teach a bunch of baby ninjas..."

"Maybe Sapphire would like that," Torner blurts.

"I bet she would," Sasuke surprisingly agrees.

And then they break through the woodlands. A spray of water crashes against the somewhat worn buggy, the mid-morning sun glittering across glassy windows and glossy paint. Torner and Sasuke simultaneously jump out of the buggy and land on the sand, these oddly matching haggard stares upon their young faces.

Torner bumps against his cousin, who's pointing out someone up ahead.

Oh, great. It's Stryker. He's screaming at the waters.

Oh, _great._

He's not even _surprised_ anymore.

"How did you even _find_ him," Torner mutters, head on Sasuke's shoulder. "I thought... I thought that tracking Stryker was like disabled on the..." Splits open his mouth to a giant yawn.

"Oh, yeah it is, but—like I said. Hanzo and I hid our tracker on his neck, and it's like the _same_ color as his neck, and it's so thin that Stryker has yet to notice it, even when he showers, which is... not often." Oof.

Torner's not surprised by this either. "Cool."

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome."

"Okay."

They stare at Stryker, who is still screaming. His face is red, but it's hard to tell if the red comes from the screaming or sunburn.

"Why's he so worked up. Did we even _have_ to come here."

"Uh, yeah," Sasuke replies, his voice a little curt. "We _did_ have to come here. We're literally in the middle of nowhere: any guesses why?"

Torner rubs at his cheek. "Something something BN Brigade."

Sasuke snorts. "If we had an accurate textbook, that's all it would say. Something something, fucking _BN Brigade._ "

"Hnnnngnh."

"Now this is pretty normal, for Stryker, except this time Hanzo noted that the guy took a hefty hunk of cash out of the warden account before doing this. Also, see there?" Sasuke points out a thick bone buggy further back. "I betcha he packed all his best wardens in there."

Torner yawns again.

"Now you know what that means?"

Torner tries to think, but before he is able to come up with anything at all, his... tracker beeps.

He starts it up.

Distress signal? Wait what's it—

A voice flows through.  
Wait that's Karl.

Wait... Karl? _Karl?_

What's he...

But the words go too quickly for sleepy Torner to pick them up. He has to replay the message, once, twice, before he realizes that it _is_ a distress signal.

"Hey, uh, Torner? Your tracker says you're in the area? And, uhhhhh... we might need some help in here?

"I'll open up the Blackymoth's hatch, just uhhhh it'd be helpful if you were here and also have a buggy. I'm assuming you do because why would you walk all this way."

Dumbfounded, Torner follows the coordinates on his tracker a ways down the shoreline, where the black hatch on the giant vessel he'd seen before beckons, propped open. He scoots up into it, passing through water and soaking his jeans, before popping down into a dark, humid building that won't stop rocking.

Torner, the man he is, immediately falls over.

 **Alrighty  
stuff's going down**

 **Oh the Blackymoth's the Black Whale except it's—like the bonehemoth in Champions? But it's the Blackymoth? Blackemoth? I like blackymoth hahaha**


	24. Death's Presence

Backwoods

24: Death's Presence

"What now, doc?"

His hands clasped together, the hooded man stands awkwardly by the chamber's metal door. The walls, painted a rough black, crowd in on him like shadows ever darker than how the night it imitates should feel. The porthole has been shut and stayed shut for some few days now. He's considered opening it, but he also _feels_ when his boss's eyes are upon him, feels them as a blade.

The scythes up his sleeve are cold, like slices of the moon cut and sharpened.

When still his boss has not responded, he clears his throat. "Doc, uhhhh... I asked you a question? Do you... I mean..." Pressing a frosty hand to his lips, he seeks a second approach. "The surprising majority of wardens actually _support_ our endeavors, you know. We're," oh how to phrase this, "we're... not _hated_. By the people. Not anymore."

This long, raspy breath, hardened and weakened by asthma and poor personal health, snakes out of the bundle lying in the bed, tucked into the darkest, farthest— _fur_ thest corner of the chamber. Karl, heart pounding, considers the many ways his boss could respond, so long as he opens his mouth.

But none reach the tiny crack of light Karl stands within, the slice of it from the just-hardly-opened door to his back.

"Doc..." Karl runs a hand through his messy black hair. His mask itches. It doesn't usually, but it does now, itches like a nasty bite. "We've done a lot of good. We ah—the documents, I told you about those already, but we burnt them and all, and the ninja warden _thanked_ me! Thanked us for what we're doing! You're not..." Karl's hand crumples angrily into a fist. "You're not a _monster_ anymore! Just... Just step out there and _tell_ the people what you've done and... I mean, c'mon, man! I thought you wanted this too!

He tries to speak, to keep speaking, to keep the room from growing colder and silenter, but he only has so much voice left fighting in his heart. It's... a trial, speaking for the both of them—and Olga, if he counts what she has to say too, which would be a lot if only they knew her native language. "We're... kind of _win_ ning here, dude!" Tries to start the fire, stoke the flame, let it grow brighter—"All you have to do is help us and stop... _ly_ ing around an—"

"Kowloon."

The man with the weapons up his sleeve is the one who flinches. His mask itches like fire. He bites his lip, angrily, emotionally, but his boss's single raspy word has blown it all back again.

"Kowloon, you are dismissed."

Voice so low, lower to the ground than the boss himself, yet whose ideals seem to very well take him higher than the heavens.

Karl scowls, his teeth digging into his mouth. " _Why_ don't you want our help any longer! Why can't you just _accept_ that things can change and so can you! The _public eye has seen—_ "

"Kowloon." Karl shudders to a halt. "You are _dismissed_."

"Okay _fine_!" he thunders back. "Go _ahead_ , why don't you!" He's panting, even as his hand slips into the door's hatch, thrusting it inward, setting the room aflame with light that spills in from the hallway. "Y'know, _we_ liked you! Even when _nobody else_ did, _we_ sure did!"

He slams it shut, his face a hot mess of shadow and bitterness, with all of the strength and all of the heart of a wronged son.

...

By the time Torner has realized he is on the ground, a hand proffers to him and he shakily takes it.

The hand, cloaked in black, the glint of scythes lingering toward the back of the sleeve, could only be owned by one person. "He-Hey, Karl." Torner swallows as sweat oozes into his palms. "How's it been."

"Not the best, not gonna lie." Once Torner stands on his own, the BN member pulls his hand back and offers some sort of salute to the thirteen-year-old who is shorter at least by a head than himself. "We have a... situation, you could say."

"Oh fun. When don't we." The sooner Torner gets through this, the sooner Torner goes to bed. Or plays kirby, or something.

A bemused smile catches the scary blade man off, and it looks _so weird_ on his angular face, his weirdo half-mask obscuring the rest of it. "I mean you're right, but it is actually sort of severe this time around. I mean, more so than materialistic failures."

"Oh."

Karl, as if the silence scares him, babbles forward. "Yeah but—so Olga—she's in the back still, k-keepin' watch and such, but we'll go pick her up soon. The plan is for _us_ to go get your buggy, then we'll...

He drags a hand through his hair, careful not to let his scythes cut it. A few telltale marks on his cheeks and his hands belie the fact that Karl was not always so careful. "Let's just focus on the first step."

Snaking up behind Torner, he beckons for the junior warden to climb back out of the hatch. Torner, after getting out, turns around and stares down at his accomplice. A row of buttons—cutely color coded—lay by the BN member's dormant hand: red, blue, green. He punches his fist into the blue one, then holds onto the red, this oddly... nostalgic expression cutting through the eye his mask doesn't hide. Then he releases it and waves Torner back, quickly slipping up through the hatch before it auto-shuts and locks.

They stand, technically enemies, most certainly not, at the top of the sleek vessel. Water crests upon their shoes.

Torner lets out a breath. "You're all like... sad."

"Whh—" Karl sputters. "You can literally only see half my face, _and_ you're a freaking kid. Stop being so _mature_." Huffing, the scary blade man folds his arms over his chest. Glares at the midmorning sky, like it's too cheerful for him. "Where's the buggy, kid?"

The thirteen-year-old leads the scary blade man down a musty pathway, the sun falling to their backs. Up a short walk, Torner stepping over his footprints from the way here, he points out to Karl the low black one. Karl appears to appreciate it as much as his older cousin does.

And that is when they get closer and the ninja himself steps on in. " _Bro_! The hell'd you go?" Stomping a little, he cuffs Torner's head. "You got me all worried!"

Sasuke gets worried?

Also. There is a girl behind him who was not behind him a few minutes ago, when Torner wandered off to go meet one of his accomplices. She stands there in the background, just sort of waiting, her eyes right on Torner's.

Shaking his head, the boy doesn't quite meet his older cousin's gaze. "I- _I_ 'm fine. Uhhh..." By way of introduction, he sort of waves his hand in Karl's direction—Karl, who stands awkwardly a smidge behind his short junior warden. "So, uh, I'm Karl's accomplice, so we're borrowing the buggy."

A long stare from Sasuke. He's quiet, his free hand cupped over his mouth, his pale skin somehow forced paler by the sun's glare of light, bouncing over his hard features and harder brow, furrowed into a scowl. His hair, a painfully white lit up in the morning skies, almost reminds Torner of angel's wings, which is so unfitting for the man bestowed it.

And his freaking pink shirt. There's some cartoon character on it. The Power Puff Girls?

"Okay. Torner, you're not going by yourself, because that's stupid." Sasuke makes eye contact with the black-cloaked figure behind his little cousin. Man, for all he does, hiding his mouth with his ninja scarf until it got too bloody or whatever, his mouth is pretty normal. How... anticlimactic. " _Karl._ Wow, you look like my future partner in crime. I promise I don't usually wear garish pink shirts, but I ran out of clean ninja garb. _Aaaanyways_ , I'll sit on the dash, you can take my seat, and Torner's—"

"The hell ya doin', Sasuke?"

"Oh god _damm_ it who next—" Angrily the ninja turns and cuts himself off. The woman who was standing there. She, with a giant spiked choker around her neck, has meandered into the conversation. "Hellcat! What now?"

The woman snorts. "It's _Heck_ cat, ya doof." She folds her arms across her buxom chest. "I like keepin' it PG for the kiddos. Ya knowww that." Well, she is officially the most attractive girl Torner has met so far. Her hair—long and spiky, white and dyed-pink at the tips—her elfish face, her wide dark eyes, her tall, curvaceous—

She has _got_ to be an adult. Nineteen? Twenty.  
Oh well. Maybe she has a younger sister. She probably doesn't, and Torner should probably chill out.

Heckcat pouts her bubblegum-pink lips. "Ya didn't answer my question: the _hell_ ya doin'?"

"Well." Sasuke glances over to the junior warden who is technically an accomplice with the BN Brigade—exhibit A, Karl's existence, lurking over Torner's shoulder. "We are infiltrating the BN Base, apparently, but not to fight anyone. And _you_ can come with us if you don't tell Stryker. But if you make any motions to, I'm afraid we'll have to tie you upside-down in a tree and leave you there."

Another snort from Heckcat. "Uhhh-huh." She proffers one glimpse Stryker's way. Somehow, perhaps due to complete and utter fatigue, he has yet to notice any of this going on. "Well I ain't gon' be the one who lets that mess of a man in on this, so I'd say we's good to go." She wanders over to Sasuke's low black buggy and waits expectantly. Then her eyes light up.

"Broke yer wrist again, I see."

"Shut up," Sasuke mutters, low-key hiding his sling with his other arm.

Everyone steadily piles around Low and Black, Torner's new name for the buggy, because somehow he didn't come up with that the first time he saw it. It turns out that Low and Black—if you fold back the front seats—offers a tight climb into the back, where a few more seats line the outer edge of the vehicle. Heckcat wordlessly clambers in, but Sasuke apparently still wants to sit on the dashboard, because he doesn't. Even when Karl also climbs over into the back seat, Sasuke still sits on the dashboard, his feet resting in the passenger's seat like a kingly cushion.

Torner, by default, scoots back into the driver's side. The thirteen-year-old, who lacks a license, _by_ default, rests his arms on the steering wheel.

He senses thick arms wrap around his headrest and Heckcat's spicy voice ask, "We lettin' the kid drive?"

From his fun perch on the dashboard, Sasuke reassures everyone; "He is a very solid driver. You'd be surprised."

"It's cuz of all the near-death situations I've been in," Torner adds, before sinking into his chair and slouching into a position of quiet sadness and regret.

There is a titter from Lysandre, her gleaming red medal in the cup-holder with Gremaine.

Finally, they get started. Torner revs the stupid loud buggy and—per Karl's instruction—darts it into the waters.

Karl, despite all of his nervousness earlier, has gone an eerie silent, resorting to staring out the window. Bubbles flicker up as Torner wedges the buggy farther down, feeling more than a smidge lightheaded. I-It's okay though—he activated Water Mode—so it's just Torner's utter scrubishness that's tiring him out now.

Besides, what's with the girl who is now apparently coming with them?

Oh. Torner should probably ask that. So he does.

Sasuke rolls his eyes and promptly smashes the silence under his heel. "You're _always_ like this, Hellcat. I swear. It's been almost a year, and you're still the same airhead girl who just does what _ever_ the hell she wants. Haaah..." A smile quirks his face. "You're just like a cat. Haha."

"That's not funny," Torner blurts—

"Yeah, well at least _I've_ dated more people since than you have, ya _doofus_!" Heckcat growls.

Wetting his lips, Sasuke's gaze slides in his younger cousin's direction. "We dated. Like, nine, ten months ago? Awhile. I am the one who dumped her, just saying. It was me."

All of a sudden every attractive quality in Heckcat is gone. All Torner can imagine is his grody older cousin ki- _kissing_ this poor woman. This poor woman who agreed to date him. Oh...

Staring out the dashboard at the aquatic life around him becomes relaxing. Water vivosaurs tear past, most of them polite enough to ignore the garish hunk of metal floating with them, mimicking their elegant finwork with very bad steering.

"Ya only dumped me in fear of me doin' it first," is Heckcat's dour response. Then she snarls out the window at a passing plesio. " _What_ ever, though. Aggro n' Spike're better bros than _you_. At least I have _friends_ , ya weirdo."

"Can we please keep the squabbling to a minimum," Karl tries—

"Yeaaaaah, _yeaaaah_. I don't have much to say to you _any_ way, Sasuke. Just that you're one big _bitch_." Heckcat, proud of her insult, returns to her tracker, her voice surprisingly lowered. Calling someone?

The BN member closes his eyes. "Ahhhh... we'll break surface soon enough. U- _Usu_ ally we have someone else man the controls and shut off the hatch, but... it's kind of just me and Olga, right now..." There's this weird... sadness, in what little of Karl's face the thirteen-year-old can see.

It makes him feel really weird. Like they're... intruding, on something, and shouldn't be here, and should've kept the intruders to a minimum... but now there's three of them, probably Stryker too.  
And he just feels really, really weird.

Karl directs Torner to an opening above their heads in the sea of black metal. He shifts Low and Black up into it, then revs it onto land and finally turns off Water Mode. Good riddance.

Staring back down into the water, a flash of something hard and ugly morphs Karl's face into a quiet storm. "We'll lose even more time if we double back to close the hatch..." He slumps back. "Let's just... find Olga, get over this."

"Wh-Where _is_ Olga?" Torner asks.

Karl won't face any of them. "She's by the back." What a _helpful_ explanation. Torner gets the feeling he shouldn't bring it up, though. Not now. And he doesn't, just stays quiet. "We'll snag her, then..." trails off.

"Uhhhh..." Heckcat, turning off her tracker, faces the man beside her. "Errythin' alright?"

He laughs. Sort of. Nearly. It's not a very happy sound. "Nope."

"Oh. Awrighty." Having apparently decided she doesn't want to talk about it, Heckcat smooths her miniskirt and stares pointedly out her window. Sasuke's gone weirdly stiff, too, a shudder of brooding quiet hunched over his figure. Torner sort of... bumps the buggy, against the wall, and once he's gotten zero reaction from his older cousin, it finally occurs to him that maybe he's not the only person who feels it.

This... hush has fallen over the group. But for Karl's quiet, monotonous directions, there is nothing. The giant vessel—Karl calls it the Blackymoth—surrounding them, stupidly massive, shadowed in metalwork and, and _loose vivosaurs,_ offers such an unsettling backdrop that Torner really can't think of anything to say, so he just drives.

When one loud t-rex darts after them, Torner steps on the gas, then remarks, "Y'know, despite the fact that I'm a warden, and all, I like never did any normal warden things."

Sasuke chuckles, slipping into the conversation in his casual manner of disruption. "That's because you are a mess."

"I don' think _an_ y warden _never_ did any _nor_ mal warden _any_ thing," Heckcat butts in. She is gracelessly ignored.

Torner glances for a second at his cousin. "Wait... are _you_ a warden?"

"Uh. Yes, and no." He continues on before Torner gets to ask how that works. "I passed the test. So uh, go me. Hanzo and I both passed. We only did it cuz our sensei told us to. Then I sorta... never showed up... for warden training. Or anything else. Ever again."

Heckcat butts in. " _Bra_ vo, ya know-nothin' doofus." She claps loudly.

Her claps slowly die out the more she remembers Karl.

And then they all sit in silence again. Past metal, spindly structures that creepily resemble—giant, teeth-filled heads—claws the size of Torner's torso—robotic vivosaurs. Walls covered in this black, tar-like material. Lots and lots of blueprints, to the point where Torner runs over little balls of them.

Wait.

"Sh-Should be go back and defeat all those rogue vivo—"

Heckcat, the only actual warden in the buggy with him, shakes her head. "How're we gonna carry 'em back?"

"Yeah, it took a lot of manpower to get them in here in the first place," Karl mutters. Then he sighs. "And feeding them is a nightmare. Don't even get me started on the poor guys who have to clean up their..."

The smile nearly breaks surface, glinting across his lips, only to be lost within the waves of melancholy memory.

Then silence, like a blizzard, heavier and heavier with each fall, descends once more. Only it stays now, stays until Karl pulls down his window once they reach an alcove and types in a code, transforming the alcove into a remarkably quiet, soft elevator.

Down down down, until finally they reach the bottom floor.

Everyone starts getting out and stretching. Karl strides over to a slumped figure by the massive metal door in the back of the clearing, opening his hand out to her. She takes it and stands, a little wobbly at first—then meeting Torner's gaze, she waves. "Hello, Torner! Very nice... see you!"

He waves back and feels the gazes of Sasuke and Heckcat cutting into him. "He really is an accomplice," he can hear his older cousin saying.

Drawing the attention back to him, Karl raises a hand—his scythes poking out a little. They glimmer in the dim lighting, and it weirdly reminds Torner of a gutted moon, the only true light left in a hallway of artificial candles and overshadowed darkness. "I'm gonna... need a little help from... uh." His eyes flicker, jumping to the massive door behind him. "It's here."

Torner scoots up, but Karl shakes his head. "I-I mean, you can... come in, if you want, but... I'm gonna need someone... ah, stronger, to...

He grows quiet. His features... tighten. "How is it that I..."

But whatever it is, he gets it. He stops. He releases a heavy breath from deep within his chest and remembers how to stand up straight. From his sleeve he pulls out an angrily-gleaming medal of some wicked vivosaur with giant purple scythe-claws.

Olga, catching his momentum, follows, medal tight in her grip.

Turning to her, he jokes, very softly, "It's them who make the casualties. We're the ones always tryin' to minimize 'em, uh?"

Torner horridly remembers where his medals are and leaps back into the buggy, scrambling to grab Lysandre and Gremaine before—

 _bBBBRHGHGHHHHHHVVV—vvvVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR—_

Is that—

 _BAHHGSHH!_

Shrapnel falls, horribly quiet after the explosion. Torner watches as if through the glass of an aquarium as hungry bits of ceiling bite into the floor—quickly and silently taking down a white-haired ninja and a white-haired woman.

Oh. Now it's just him... the accomplice. And Karl. And Olga.

Oh... oh no...

Torner jumps out of the buggy, his medals hard against his shaking hands, as he scatters them against the ground. Another piece of shrapnel _screeches_ as it tears from the side of the Blackymoth—but a lythro at least twice as big smacks it back into place. Her gory red teeth, her red-striped body marked in bruise-purple—her shimmery ambery-green gaze, so calm and pleasant, has gone cold.

Her little buddy—such a cute, tiny v-raptor when compared to her massive glory—follows in her footsteps.

 _Wh-What's going on_? Lysandre carefully stands in front of Torner, roaring a little tentatively at the vehicle that fell from the ceiling and is now trying to drive past her. When she raises a clawed paw and mimes swatting it back, the people in it pour out.

Someone's cursing her— _Stryker_. That's his... voice.

Burly and lithe and powerful-looking people flank the warden chief. There's the guy with the giant, spiky red hair—Aggro... was it? And that's Lancelot, the cool green-haired one. They're really good, apparently.

Torner's _not_ really good.

Also there's a _burly_ tan dude in a mask with golden locks of hair. He's so burly that his muscles stretch his tee-shirt.

The redhead speaks, and hearing him speak makes Torner's legs melt. " _Heckcat_! Where you at, girl!" His thick, sweeping head scours the perimeters without finding her. "I swear A _ri_ sa if you're going to..." when his eyes fall to the shrapnel shuddering on the ground.

His face quiets down fast. "Stryker, we have casualties."

Lancelot whips his head to the ground, his green ponytail flickering. He immediately crouches and begins pulling through the wreckage, making quick work with his bleeding fingers. "I knew this was a poor plan..." he murmurs in a soft tenor.

The masked dude is there too, but he's silent. Folds his burly arms over his burly chest.

One of them finds Heckcat and Aggro pulls her back, ducking his head into their buggy, making room for the unconscious body. Lancelot retrieves a heavily-wounded Sasuke, who struggles to his feet but can't keep himself up there, soon falling into the finely-dressed man's arms.

And then it's just Torner, the accomplice, and his lythro, against a very angry warden chief. The stony-silent masked man is there too, but he hasn't moved.

Karl and Olga step up behind him. Karl's hand is on his shoulder. "Kiddo... ah, you can betray us if you want. I hadn't... really expected this to get so out of han—"

"TORNER, ARE YOU HELPING THE ENEMY!"

Torner's eyes fly fearfully between the bad guy who's nice to him and the good guy who's mean. "I'M HELPING THE PEOPLE WHO TREAT ME BETTER THAN YOU DO!"

Torner slaps his hand over his mouth.

Stryker scowls. "WHAT WAS THAT."

"THE TRUTH," he screams around his hand.

He's offended the warden chief. A smack of hurt flashes across the busy man's important face.

Stryker drags one gloved hand across his arm, ripping open a secret velcro seam in his fine coat to reveal a horrifying stack of vivosaur medals. "The only truth is of me defeating my sworn enemy, once and for all." With his gloved hand, he plucks medals here and there from his stash—a horridly smiling water monster, a mean-looking sauropod, and Torner catches a hungry lythro in the mix. "Torner, I would suggest you move out of the way.

"First Hanzo betrays me, and now you. Who is next?"

It occurs to Stryker that anyone could be next and he glares pointedly at the one burly fighter who still stands with him. Burly fighter doesn't react.

A cough breaks out, behind Torner's head.

Karl raises his hand again. He pulls up his sleeve, in some attempt of hiding his scythes. "P-Please, Stryker. Let us pass. We're not..." He shatters into another painful cough, growling softly. "We _both_ know who would win, if you do this." Intakes a shallow breath. "Right now we need your help. B-Blacknycto could die if you don—"

"But isn't that what we as wardens so desire?"

The wardens do some awkward staring across the shrapnel-filled chamber. Aggro and Lancelot, having finished securing the wounded, share a meaningful glance and do not go up to stand by their chief.

"I-It's not what _I_ s-so desire!" Torner squeaks. His voice cracks something like three times. They're louder, sharper, in the hunky metal chamber.

Stryker's dark eyes narrow. "But that's because you are a traitor." Y-Yikes. "What _us_ , the greatest of the wardens, desire, is for your tyranny to fall."

"We really haven't done all that much tyranny in a while," Karl mutters.

"But now is _our_ time to win, to finally de _stroy_ you dirty, dis _gust_ ing—"

Karl raises his voice, his cheek flashing red: "OKAY, I'VE TRIED TO BE RESPECTFUL, BUT YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY NOT GIVING ME THE BASIC RESPECT I DESERVE." When everyone shuts up and stares at him, he gets even redder. "Uh. Th-Thanks." He swallows. Stares at Torner, because apparently he's the easiest person to stare at out of all the people in the clearing. "Blacknycto won't even give you a _challenge_ right now. A-And like I said, he's...

Shakes his head. "C-Can I just get your help, please? He needs help. We need help. The BN Brigade's pretty much fallen apart at this point _if it makes you happy_ but we _really need_ some—"

Stryker tosses his medals furiously at the ground—

But his burly masked sidekick grabs them before they ever reach it.

The burly man presumably looks over Karl, but it's hard to tell, with him in a full mask. "I am Dino Jigante." _Deeno Higontay_. "I accept your offer, strange man with half-mask. What is wrong?"

Karl glances up at him, his face awash with... feeling. "R-Really! Ahhhh thank you..." He frantically wipes the spots under his eyes. "I-I might need you and Aggro both..."

Aggro gets up and follows the black-cloaked man, Dino Jigante waiting for him.

Olga goes after, so Torner assumes it's fine to walk with her. She lets him, at the very least, and she takes his tiny pale hand in her larger and warmer. Squeezes it, like a... mother.

With a power he'd never seen before, Karl _yanks_ the massive door open. It spills inward, and the group falls in. Torner glances back once to a frozen Stryker who watches it all happen strangely, his eyes very still.

When Torner turns back around, he catches the men surrounding the bed in the corner of the chamber. He tugs on Olga's hand, clasped around his. "What are they..."

She, with her tiny warm smile, leans closer to him and tells him about Doctor Sylvester Blacknycto, a man who was very smart and built very many cool things, too many cool things for her to be able to translate. After Stryker took into power, he ceased his partnership with the wardens administration and focused solely on knocking their ruler down. His actions, however, caused the public eye to see him in an ugly light fueled by Stryker's opinionated ideals.

It took a toll, over the years.

In her tiny, pained smile, Olga whispers, "Karl said it was... over... dosage. Too much sleeping pill, one time. Say he might be okay, but might not be. Do not know."

Torner stares at the lump of a person hiding beneath his covers, slowly being dragged out of bed by three of the strongest men he's ever met.

Who's the bad guy now?

Is there a bad guy?

He thinks about this the whole time, as Olga takes over and drives him and Karl to the international hospital. Sasuke, and Heckcat, and Sylvester are all admitted.

Heckcat's okay. Maybe a concussion.  
Sasuke broke his other wrist. Somehow it's completely unsurprising.

Sylvester's not dead. Not right now.  
But they don't know. Nobody does.

None of them, not the artificial intelligence fueled by real intelligence pumped into the computers, not the very smart people at the international hospital, not Hanzo, not Stryker, not _Leroy_ or _any_ one.

Leroy's his nephew, or something. Torner doesn't remember how he knows that now, but he does.

All these people sitting in the waiting room at the international hospital.

All these people. Stryker's been quiet the whole time. They all have, mostly, but for quiet pockets of stories, about Sylvester, not Blacknycto, and about what the wardens used to look like.

What is there left to be..?

…

"Hey, Torner. Ahhh... I know it hasn't been that long, but Duna thought it'd be a good idea to check on you again. So... ah... that's why I'm calling you. Please pick up? Maybe you're just asleep, but it's worrying to keep getting your dial tone. Ahhh... yep. End."

His tracker stops recording.

Hanzo sighs.

"It wouldn't be bad if I checked, right?"

Duna glimpses him through her soft, magenta gaze. "Well... it would certainly ease you, yes? And if he is not safe, then you will know."

"Yeah. Yeah..." Sucking in a breath, Hanzo runs through the codes to get him to the track-a-tracker screen. He inputs his little brother's id which he had to hack to get because it's supposed to be a private code. But it's fine. It's for his little brother's safety, it's—

"Fffhh—" He chokes on his voice. "He's at the international hospital. I-I think we are going to go to the international hospital right now."

Duna stares, her eyes a little wide, at her unsettled boyfriend. "Yes. Let us go to the international hospital."

"We'll pick up Torner, and we'll get him his NS, and he'll play his video games, and if he's in a lot of pain it'll make him feel better."

"So... his room... and then the hospital?"

Hanzo nods. "Yes. He doesn't lock it, so we'll be fine."

So they will be.

But by the time they reach Torner, it turns out that Torner is no longer admitted—and _then_ it turns out he never was admitted. Actually, there's a lot of distinguished wardens in the international hospital's waiting room, just... doing exactly that.

Lancelot reading a book by a lamp, his glasses on. Aggro slouched next to him, staring at one of the ceiling-televisions. That wrestler, Dino Jigante, with a paper coffee cup in his thick hand. Stryker all the way at the end, his eyes on an unmoving wall. The usually so busy man is watching paint dry, only the paint has already dried.

And others have gathered too, but Hanzo pays zero attention to them, opting to plop down next to his younger brother on a couch.

"What's wrong?"

Torner's face is... scrunched together. His spiny hair's fallen over his eyes, and he's just staring at the ground, his hands tight together in his lap.

"Torner."

Eventually the boy manages the task of glancing in his older brother's direction. "Is Stryker, or is S-Sylvester, the bad guy?"

"Wh-What?" Hanzo laughs uneasily. "Torner, this is real life. I don't know if there are any bad guys."

"But there's always a bad guy," he murmurs, "like... _Bowser_." His brow furrows. "Sylvester looks like Bowser, but Stryker acts like him. So does that mean Stryker's the bad guy?"

Hanzo hurriedly shushes his brother. "Try not to sound so treasonous when your warden chief is across the room."

"I'm an accomplice. It's too late for me." Torner stares dejectedly at the floor some more.

W-Well now what?

At a loss, Hanzo considers just pulling out the video games.

When a certain dinaurian strides past him and sits very gently on her boyfriend's lap, as to face Torner.

A flash of disgust fills Torner's face, but it's only for a second. "Hi Duna," he mumbles, "I still think you're cool even though you're dating my older brother."

"A-Ahaha..." Duna's cheeks blush purple. "Thank you very much. I am happy to know... that I am still cool." She rests, tentatively, a hand on Torner's shoulder. When he doesn't react, she leaves it there, this oddly melancholic smile gracing her soft face. "Something... very heavy happened. Yes? I ah..." She shrugs a little. "I know the feeling. I lost all of my family, save my brother, when my home was destroyed.

"My king, he lost my friends, his children, and I... watched him become a very, very sad person, who did very poor things in his pain. Ah..." She cups her face, staring at the same spot on the ground as Torner. "It—It is very hard to think about, even now! Heh..."

Torner's face scrunches even more, and for a second it looks like they made it worse. Then he just sighs. "Now I feel bad... D-Don't cry, Duna..."

Well, it's quite the relief that Hanzo's brother likes his girlfriend.

Now seems like the perfect time, so Hanzo casually pulls out his brother's NS.

It doesn't awaken the sort of reaction he was hoping, but Torner at least takes it. He pulls out the two controllers Hanzo brought and hands one to Duna, then logs into that pink game, the kirby one.

Duna holds her controller upside-down the entire time, and she keeps accidentally falling off the stage, but Hanzo's little brother doesn't even care.

It's a nice little change of pace. If it is... a little sad.

 **This was something else**

 **it was very... profound? which is vERY not like backwoods**

 **Also I did a bit of research for the chapter, haha**

 **I looked up about overdosing on sleeping pills to understand how it would work/could it actually kill you, and it could but doctors took out the majority of sleeping pills with dosages _that high_ and the most of the rest are only used in like surgery or something, but  
I figured Blacknycto could figure something out**

 **also I felt so weird researching it because as I was looking up things like how long would overdosing on sleeping pills take to kill you, there were all of these suicide prevention websites popping up but I was like no I'm not suicidal it's not me I'm just writing a suicidal character ahhhhh**


	25. Spooky Future Time Boy

**Here it is! Last... well... official chapter!**

 **But I think I'm gonna post another story sometimes called "Subwoods", which is literally just Backwoods except from everyone's perspectives, cuz I didn't get to write about Sapphire and Sasuke being in the same room together, and WOW I WANT TO.**

 **Also, what about Leon and Becky? Leon's pathetic feelings are implied multiple times but there's no way it's happening in the last chapter of Backwoods. So will it? maybe it will if I make short stories xD If I do make another story for backwoods, Leon and Becky will for sure be in it though haha**

 **And I'm sure everyone wants to read about how Sasuke survives after breaking both of his wrists (maybe, hahaha. I'd want to xD)  
Spoiler, he's gonna need some help, the only question is who the heck he'll ask for help from  
Not even I know xD**

 **But as it stands, this is the last official Backwoods chapter. I still have one character left who has not shown up At All in the story, so if you've been keeping track you might already know who it is haha. But if you don't that's fair. I mean, characters like Lucky and Dr. Digmore literally showed up for a Hot Second before dissipating into the abyss, but I don't count them because Technically they showed up.**

 **Anyways, last chapter! Wheeee**

Backwoods

25: Spooky Future Time Boy

Torner is abruptly awoken from his afternoon accidental nap on the couch by a _frigid_ hand. He starts right up, nervously rubbing the sleepy dust from his eyes, only to glimpse a dude he's never before seen in his entire life. Alrighty. It no longer matters if Torner is slouching, so his back auto-slouches.

He's in pajama pants this time, a bit of a departure from his usual boxer shorts. But he _is_ wearing a shirt, something his stinky older cousin sure had no qualms about. Ugh.

Well, back to the stranger. Torner doesn't even turn off his blaring NS speakers, he cares so little about the stranger, and goes, "Whatchu want?"

"H-Hi there!" The man—no, no, _boy_ —flips his hair, long and silvery, flowing into purple at the tips. It's to his butt in length, and—wow, that is some dedication. His jewel-like hazel eyes sort of skirt around the prospect of meeting Torner's sleepy green stare as it wanders toward the television. "I'm, uhm..." He glances a little feverishly toward the edge of the room. "Y-You didn't see any of it?"

Wow, what a high-pitched voice. It's kinda... soft. And his _clothes_! He's dressed like a spacey boyo from the second dimension, in shnazzy velcro-y garb. He'd make a great video game protagonist.

"I was asleep," is Torner's excuse. And he was. He sleeps kinda heavy.

The boy throws a disgruntled glance at the almost-fourteen-year-old. "You must sleep _very_ heavily, then! I just warped in here from the _future_ , you do realize!"

"Mmm." Torner unpauses his game. "That's cool." He's playing that new Mario game, the cool one.

Evidently confused, the boy glimpses between his host and his host's television. "I-Is that The Mario Party! W-Wowwwwww! What an ancient relic!"

"Don't call The Mario an ancient relic," Torner mutters with his lids half shut.

Once he's determined that Torner's not gonna add any more to the conversation, the boy plops himself onto the couch beside him. "I'm from the future. The Mario _is_ an ancient relic, mi-mind you." He holds out a hand to a distracted Torner, who does not shake it. "I'm, um... Elric." He puts his hand back in his pocket.

"Torner," says Torner, still staring head-on at The Mario.  
He gets a bad roll on his dice and it takes every ounce of strength in him not to pummel Elric off of his couch in a fit of frustration.

Now _Peach_ is going to get the _stupid star_. Freaking... Peach.

Apparently Elric was left stunned by his host's name. "Y-You're Torner! That means I'm in the right place! Or... should be. T-Torner, what's the date?"

"I dunno. I'm almost fourteen." He yawns. "It's like, a week before my birthday, I guess."

Elric learns to be satisfied with this vague answer. "Oh. W-Well, I might've traveled to the right date. W-We shall see!"

"So..." Torner turns to actually look at his guest in favor of making the stranger squirm rather than watch Peach get the star. "What's your deal, exactly? Cuz, I mean... are you gonna stay here for forever?"

A large rash develops over Elric's face. "Y-Yes, well!" For a time-traveler, he's sure easy to embarrass. Wait, Torner doesn't know any other non-fictional time-travelers. Maybe they're all this easy to embarrass. "Well you _see_ , I was waiting because supposedly on this day I was to—" and abruptly cuts himself off.

"I-I've never done this before."

"Oh." Torner blinks, returning reluctantly to his game. "Well, I've never done this before either, so that makes two of us."

Elric, from his spot next to Torner, slumps a little. "I suppose that's true. U-Unless I've visited your past. Th-That's the thing! They _taught_ us about the physics and technicalities and fun math formulas of time-travel, but it's never been done before! S-So what if me telling you the future still changes it? I-I don't know!"

"Hmm." Surprisingly, the almost-fourteen-year-old raises his brow as if he knows something. "The way I see it, either you telling me the future splits us off into another alternate dimension, like every other choice we make as human beings in the first place... or nothing changes, because the reason the future is the way the future is is _because_ you visited."

Shocked, the time-traveler boy stares up at Torner, as if Torner is much smarter than him. He probably came up with his explanation out of video game story-lines as is. " _Wow_! Are you se-secretly a time-traveler too?"

"Nah." Torner pretends he is not soaking up all of the compliments. "I'm just a guy who tries to think before his actions. Common sense, y'know?" He can hear his laughing lythro somewhere in the corner of the room. He pretends that's not a thing either.

H-He's getting better about it, _okay_.

"I wish I had common sense," Elric whispers like a complete idiot.

"Everyone has some, if you look inside your heart."

Ugh... now Torner feels like a mascot in a kid's show. But for some reason it makes Elric smile, so at least the kid's not babbling more.

"W-Well, okay, I'll tell you then. I come from th-thousands of years in the future seeking my soulmate!"

Torner stares, dumbfounded, as Peach approaches another star. _He_ of course is playing as The Mario, the one and only, so at this point he's like, Mario should divorce this demon-woman. Wait, are they even married? "Why can't you just have a soulmate in _your_ timeline? You don't have to go and steal one from ours."

"Oh, I'm fully aware!" Is Elric blushing again? Wait, of _course_ he is. For a second there Torner forgot he wasn't one of his bros. Is this how Nate and Leon see _him_? "It's just, if you do the simple calculations, you can figure out if a potential soulmate of yours lives in the past or future! And if that soulmate's unregistered in, like, having a marriage or a charted relationship with anyone else, then it potentially could mean that someone from _our_ time came and snagged them!"

Torner thinks about ignoring this weirdo. "That's... Alright." Okay he admits it'd be cool to know who one of his _potential soulmates_ is, but that's still wei—"Wait I'm not your soulmate. I-I-I don't like boys not even long-haired boys _I just I just boys're—_ "

"Pffff, nonono, I'm not here for _you_!"

"Well let's hope you're not here for Lysandre, then."

"Lys—"

The lythro snorts. _He's not here for me, Torner. He's here for Trixia._

 _WHAT_. Torner stares down at his vivosaur. _No he's not. She's not here. She hasn't been here in like weeks. She just sporadically shows up whenever she wants, which is almost never, and—_

Lysandre is so done with him right now, her eyes fleck to the ceiling. _Then you tell me why the time-traveler boy would specifically travel to today, of all days, to your room, of all rooms, if not to see your younger cousin. Plus, please remember I can read minds._

 _W-Well he's gonna have a fun surprise when he meets her, because she's a total scrub._ Well, so is Torner, but if he's made Elric uncomfortable, Trixia's gonna scare him all the way across the world. Sasuke is the worst, so at least Sasuke hasn't stopped by.

Oh.

"Hey Elric. Does Sasuke ever finish his castle in the future? Cuz his wrists just healed up finally, so he's working on paying that off right now."

Elric glances up at him, his luminous hazel eyes twinkling like cheery little stars. "Y-You'd like to know! I'm happy to tell you!" He gets all excited, sitting with his legs crisscrossed on Torner's couch. "Sasuke _does_ pay it off! And after he tells the warden chief successor about the guy who wouldn't pay him, he ends up joining the wardens sort of out of guilt-tripping! _And then_ he runs a ninja school _in his palace_ , and Sapphire _does_ end up dating him, and they _do_ fall in love, but _then_ —"

"Oh my _goodness_ how much do you _know_ about him."

This strange little smile quirks Elric's pale face. "I studied a lot from Trixia's timeline, so that I could better understand her when I was finally old enough to time-travel here! Plus, I-I mean, Sasuke's her older brother, so it's only fitting I..."

Then another part of Elric's story suddenly becomes clear. "Who the heck's the warden chief successor?"

"Only the person Stryker chooses to take the warden chief role after he, the, well, current warden chief in _this_ timeline, either gets arrested, retires, or dies! After the whole BN incident—that thing becomes _famous_ , by the way, they've made _so_ many movies about it—unfortunately, though, they seem to forget that you were also there and just cut your role altogether—"

"That's _turd_ I had a _very_ important role! I was the accomplice! Th-The only reason I'm still a warden is cuz Stryker was tired and didn't feel like filling out the paperwork that came with dropping me!" Also because Hanzo did some casual sabotage in his favor, because Hanzo is actually the coolest brother in the universe, but, well, yeah.

Elric, flipping his hair, smiles softly. "I know! You're in some of the older textbooks about the event, before they decided your role was unimportant, adding an unneeded drama and bias to the situation, and cut your name out."

"Well that sucks," Torner mumbles. "Wait they still have textbooks in the future? Gross."

The time-traveler gently shakes his head. "No, no, the textbooks are only for people trying to pursue a specific profession that requires lots of learning. Some professions are more hands-on, like the wardens! After Stryker's successor takes the warden throne, things get great! He abolishes textbooks and requires everyone to have set meal times so people forget to eat less often and actually _get to know_ the other wardens. I mean, it's all in his plan to get closer to Becky, but he helps the wardens out so much due to his own bottled up sense of humanity deep inside him!"

" _Beck_ y..." Immediately, it's obvious. " _Leon_ 's the—"

"Yep! And he does a _great_ job, so stop looking at me like it's such a bad thing. I mean, yeah, they used to vote on the next wardens, but Stryker was worried someone like Hanzo—who he no longer trusted after the whole BN incident—or even Karl, who passes the warden exam, by the way, would take the throne. Leon seemed pretty unsuspecting, so Leon it was."

Torner tries to divulge this information. He's forfeited his mario party game. "Wow. That's... really cool! Wow... D-D'you know if you're related to any of them? Like, the wardens? Cuz you seem kinda _smart_ 'n—"

"Well, we can't follow our timelines _that_ easily—it's someone else's job to try and track genetics that sour like when the princess of Midell went missing"—wait _what_ —"but I do know I'm a white-haired prodigy, just like my many-greats ancestor! You probably don't know him, since you sounded like a bit of an idiot when I read your archived data, but his name was Rupert Oyasum and he was pretty cool. He's part of your ancestry, too, actually."

Rupert who? Wait—did he just say Torner's a—

 _Wait_... "What are you..."

"See, Rupert's kid got together with one of Raptin and Jkonna's kids, and then—"

Torner decides he is done listening to Elric and forcibly returns to his game. Unfortunately for him, he's in last place, _solid_ last place. And it's the last five turns, so things can only get worse.

Knowingly interrupting Elric's newest tangent, he asks, "When the heck does Trixia _get_ here?"

"Oh, ah... I was nervous, so I traveled an hour or so earlier than when she's supposed to come. A-At least I _think_ it was only an hour... ma-maybe it wasn't, I, ah, I may have accidentally gone even earlier..."

Torner sighs. Closes his eyes. He was having a great time losing to Peach, and now this weirdo is messing with his life.

Well, while he's here, might as well make the most of it. This is like learning end-game spoilers to a video game excepts somehow even funner.

"Soooo what happens to Duna and Hanzo?"

Elric gasps. "That's one of my _favorite_ areas of study!" Why does he have a favorite area of study? Studying's dumb, and that's probably why Elric thinks Torner's an idiot. "Dinaurian biology, quite a magical subject actually! Your brother, Torner, actually happens to hold all of the correct biological technicalities for his genes to express themselves! He's dinaurian!"

"Wait no he's not. _I'm_ no—"

"Because you don't hold the right biological chemistry for it." Torner decides he doesn't like people who are this much smarter than him. "He's been hiding it since he was a child, because he felt out of place seeing so many people who didn't look like him—but that's the thing! Duna's a genuine dinaurian, from the _past_! Crazy, right? I love their story, it's so sweet and touching! Kinda like time-travelers, except of course Duna probably would've been happy enough if she'd stayed with Dino back before the stone sleep and all. Both a shame she wasn't born later, when the technology exists to potentially revive her safely, but wonderful, since she and Hanzo have so many cute little dinaurian babies—"

"Please stop talking about my brother's babies," Torner whispers, curled up in a ball on his couch, a pillow cushioned on top of his head.

That's one of the worst things to think about, his older brother being old and married and _a father_. Uuugggghhhhhhhhh _hhhhhhh_.

In order to get his mind off of all the _happy families_ that're gonna exist in a few years, Torner asks, "So which couples don't get together? Or divorce, or whatever?"

Elric pouts. "Wh-Why would you ask that? That's sad!"

"Oh no. Don't tell me Penny and Nate—"

"No, no, they are physically unable to separate, even if Penny did get tired of her doof of a betrothed. Hmmmm..." Elric raises his eyes to the ceiling. "G-Geez, you really want to know this? My hands are all shaky now... I don't like thinking about all the... hnnn...

When Torner doesn't respond, the time-traveler boy slouches into his bidding. " _You_ break up with a lot of girls. Well, no, they break up with you. It takes a long time before you can find someone who's willing to stick with you." Oh great. He's imagining giant exes on all the faces of the girls he's met so far. "I don't remember if Karl and Olga stay together. He's really emotionally destroyed after Sylvester Blacknycto finally dies..."

Oh that's... really sad. Uh...

"S-Sapphire and Sasuke really get together?"

"Pfff. They do!" Elric happily switches topics. "Nobody believes it. Ruby gets really mad and tries to disown her sister, only she shows up at their palace every time she gets bankrupt, which is unsurprisingly often."

Torner almost feels bad for Ruby, except she might also deserve it.

"W-Wait, but who do I get together with in the end?" The almost-fourteen-year-old suddenly gets this plan where he ends all of his future suffering with one girl. He feels all _scheming_ , like a bad guy, underneath his pillow, curled up on his couch.

This... realization fills Elric's face. "She's actually both the first and the last girl you date." Oh. _Oh no._ Does that mean _the future really did expect him to try and—_

"Wait but _who_! Who is it?" What if he dates the wrong girl first? What if he never finds the right girl? What if—

"Yes, well, you do know her! J-Just try to be a little understanding that even though you're dumping her now, she's actually the right one for you. It's, ah—"

And then his door opens, and all of Elric's focus goes to the girl behind it. Torner never learns who is _potential soulmate_ is, and you bet he's gonna date her first, dump her when he decides that she's flawed, and then slowly realize as he dates around that she was actually the best person for him all along, and feel terrible and sorry for himself when he thinks about the way he treated her originally.  
Torner feels like it's Mei Lan, but he also feels like he wants it to be Daisy. Except he'd never dump Daisy cuz she's the sweetest, cutest girl in the universe.

Wait it could totally be Daisy. If he _realized_ she was _flawed_ and then like an idiot dumped her...

…heck.

It could also be Dahlia, but Torner hates that line of thought, because Dahlia's _mean_ and _scary_ , which is exactly why he'd dump her the first time and then— _no no no no n_ o.

When Torner finally resurfaces from his maelstrom, determining that he's just gonna have to see what happens, he notices that his younger cousin is sitting on his curled up figure. And bouncing.

"Torrrnerrrr, Torrrrnerrrr, wakey wakey waaakeeeeyyyyyyyy!"

The almost-fourteen-year-old slowly sits up, causing his white-haired younger cousin to knock to the floor. Poor thing, she's got this _giant_ dress on, and her hair's all done up, and her pale face has been carefully enhanced with stupid amounts of makeup, and now she's rumpled up on the floor like Torner's latest box of pineapple pizza.

Elric, seeing her in real life, positively can't take it and whispers to Torner, "What do I do to gain her favor."

"Well she just turned twelve," Torner mutters back, "and her favorite food is candy."

The time-traveler boy squints. "Candy's not very good for you."

"If that's your attitude toward it, you will never gain her favor."

"Oh." Elric stares sadly down at the capsized Trixia, then slowly gets onto the ground beside her and helps her back up. "H-Hi there. I'm from the future."

Trixia stares at him, her blue eyes piercing—then bowls over in laughter. "As in the _two seconds from now_ future? Cuz _I_ am too! Nice t'meetcha!" She snags his hand and shakes it hard, her face a giant, kiddish smile.

Whatever Elric sees in her, he probably doesn't see it in her today.

 _Whoa—_ what if he like, _left_ today, discouraged since Trixia's a little-girl nightmare, then _returns_ a few years from now once she's matured, and like...

That would be cool. Torner wishes he was smart enough to time-travel, but he determines that his current lifestyle is the one that's best for him.

Wait but what if _because_ he leaves now, Trixia turns out like Sasuke and never matures?

Torner recognizes Elric's hooded expression, probably going through the same process as Torner.

He plants a hand, awkwardly, trying to be friendly, on Elric's shoulder—the poor kiddo jolts—and says, "Whatever you decide, you're welcome to stay and play The Mario Party with me. You can even sleep on the couch, when I actually sleep in my bed, or sleep in my bed when Stryker decides he wants me to go on a horrible mission that takes overnight."

An overly grateful Elric barrels him into a hug.

Then they all play The Mario Party, which Trixia wins purely out of luck.

Elric decides to stay, at least for the night. So that's cool.

What's really cool is when Torner invites Nate and Leon over, and Elric sort of loses his mind, seeing all these people he looked to as characters from history's storybooks.

But man... Torner keeps getting hung up on the girl thing. He's gonna date them, hate them, dump them, then eventually date them again, and it'll be a _mess_. And—And the crazy thing is, Elric could totally be lying. Not even _he_ knows everything—he doesn't even know what to do about Torner's crazy younger cousin. And _Torner_ got his name cut out of the textbooks! That is _so sad_!

He realizes he forgot to ask Elric if Nate and Leon are gonna be his bros for a long time. But it'd be weird to ask it now, with them there, right? And he's already asked a lot, and maybe Elric enjoys it, but Torner does feel a little weird, asking all these questions...

W-Well, he'll just try to do his best, probably screw up, and if his bros still accept him as his bros, then they were always his bros in the first place. And they _weren't_ if they _don't_. Yeah.

Torner still keeps himself up all night worrying.

 **Oops, this chapter's longer than I intended. I feel like Elric's a good closing statement for the story though, since he literally knows the future (or at least the biased textbooky part of it that could be fake for all we know), except even though he knows the future he's still all freaked out, ahaha...**

 **I dunno, I think it was good xD**

 **This is random, but earlier I went to the movie theatre (heheh to see incredibles 2, now I'm dating this story hahahaha summer 2018) and I saw this guy in a Hawaiian shirt—only, get this, it was a _flamingo print Hawaiian shirt!_ I was like, holy turd, I'm not the first one to come up with it. The only difference is that Torner's stupid expensive Hawaiian flamingo shirt probably looked like an artist had designed it? Like, it wasn't a print with the same flamingos on it but a bunch of differently-designed flamingos in a scene or something—I actually drew a picture of Torner in it, hahaha. But still. Cool coincidence.**

 **Well, here's the end, haha.**


End file.
